


i am a nightmare and you are a miracle

by her_black_tights



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kindergarten Teacher!Clarke, Romance, Tattoos, single dad!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/her_black_tights/pseuds/her_black_tights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a failed attempt at medical school and the worst year of her life, Clarke Griffin escapes to her hometown to become a kindergarten teacher, expecting everything to be easy. However, when overprotective father Bellamy Blake and his shy daughter Aurora walk into Clarke's classroom on the first day, everything becomes far more difficult than she could have ever predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my heart is glowing fluorescent

**Author's Note:**

> okay so, i just binge-watched all of the 100 and now i'm obsessed with bellarke and knew i needed to write something about them!!! this fic will probably have around 3 to 4 parts and is kind of sad/depressing but also happy (i think?). i kind of fudged everyone's ages a little bit so clarke is 25 and bellamy is around 28. the explicit rating will kick in prob during the next chapter. ;) thx 4 reading!!!

This is the most nervous Clarke has ever been for her first day of school.

Well, to call it her first day of school is a slight misnomer. It isn’t her first day of school but it’s her first day as a kindergarten teacher after one bachelor degree, two years of doing exactly what her mother wanted and going to medical school, and one year of teacher certification training. She’s not exactly happy about her path until this point (she wished she hadn’t taken that pit stop in New Haven, Connecticut, pretending that Yale Medical School was where she actually wanted to be) but she’s happy she’s finally made it, to a place where she’s happy, calm, and no longer feeling like every other word that leaves her mouth is a lie.

She hums to herself as she pulls up her jeans and buttons up her floral shirt, trying to diffuse the tension that’s flowing throughout her body. Her heart’s beating a steady staccato against her ribcage and she looks herself in the mirror, only to see a pale, petrified version of herself staring back at her. “Clarke, get it together,” she mutters to herself, giving her reflection a stern glare. 

“They’re just kindergarteners. They like to finger paint and pretend they’re fairies. There’s nothing scary about them. You can handle this.”

Her pep talk doesn’t completely calm her nerves but it settles her rapid heartbeat and keeps her hands from shaking so she’s able to do her makeup. She’s not used to feeling so nervous, so unsure of herself that it unsettles something deep inside her, fucking with all the confidence she’s spent all these years building up. She sighs as she applies mascara with a shaky hand, thankfully not getting any on her face. “They’re just kindergarteners,” she repeats to herself and this time, it finally seems to sink in. They’re just kids. This is nothing compared to a lot of the bullshit she’s had to go throughout the past twenty five years that she’s been alive. 

She manages to apply a soft, natural shade of lipstick with steady hands and smiles at her reflection. “Today’s going to be fine. Great, even. Perfectly fine,” she says, finality in her voice, and she moves from her bathroom to her room to gather her shoes, her bag, her car keys, and almost every book she’s ever read about early childhood education. 

“Today’s going to be great,” she says to herself and she thinks she finally believes it. 

*

She arrives at school approximately an hour before her students arrive to put the final touches on her classroom. Clarke’s spent the better part of the past month decorating it, choosing an “under the sea” theme and using every bit of untrained artistic talent that she has. She received the names of all of her students last week and has been spending the past couple days putting the finishing touches on name cards for every student in her class, each construction paper name card cut out a different type of fish that she thinks fit with each kid’s name. 

Last week, one of the other kindergarten teachers, a beautiful but stoic girl named Maya, told her to fuck off as soon as she walked into her classroom and called her an overachiever. She laughed but she didn’t disagree with her. Her own kindergarten teacher had told Clarke’s mother the same thing at the end of Clarke’s first day of school. She sighs at the memory, not wanting to ruminate too much on what has happened between her and her mother. She knows that’s the pathway to more nerves, more sweaty palms, and uneven heartbeats.

She spends the next hour making sure everything is perfect. Clarke likes losing herself in simple, monotonous tasks, always has. She’s able to think better that way and she sets her mind to the task of preparing for the day. There’s just kindergarteners. Though she didn’t study childhood education in school, choosing instead to double major in neuroscience and pre-med, children have never scared her. She loves taking care of people, loves guiding them and giving advice, and when she finally realized that Yale Medical School and everything that came with it wasn’t the best choice for her, being a kindergarten teacher was the best last minute attempt at fulfillment she could think of. 

Her focus is suddenly broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat and she looks up to see her first student. Whoever it is, they’re early, but she remembers that the teacher who mentored her last year told her to expect early arrivals, usually the overprotective, helicopter parents. She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst, and pastes her brightest, sweetest smile on her face. 

“Hi, I’m Miss Clarke.”

Her heart stutters when she makes eye contact with the parent in question, but not because he’s an uptight businessman wearing a suit (what she had expected when she realized the parent of her first student was male). He’s young, probably only two to three years older than her, but his steely gaze makes him seem far older. Dark curly hair covers his head, giving him an almost boyish air, but his broad shoulders and sturdy build make it clear that he’s a man. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the dark drawings tattooed to both of his arms but she quickly pulls her gaze away before he catches her staring. There’s a small girl at his side, with lovely eyes and dark hair, and from one glance, it’s clear that he’s her father and she’s his daughter. They just look so much alike. 

“Bellamy Blake. This is my daughter, Aurora.”

She quickly busies herself with his daughter, kneeling down on the floor and smiling widely. Aurora, or Rory as she quickly tells Clarke she prefers to be called. Dark eyes, curly hair, tan skin, with freckles spread across the bridge of her nose, Clarke can already tell that Rory’s going to be a stunner when she grows up. She’s sweet too, reaching out to shake Clarke’s hand in a timid, practiced motion. The effort makes Clarke smile and she’s immediately reminded why she decided to become a kindergarten teacher: sweet kids with big smiles who need to be taught, understood, and cared for. 

“Let me show you to your cubby and your desk, Rory,” Clarke says and she reaches out to take the little girl by the hand. The little girl stares at Clarke’s hand nervously for a moment before looking up at her father, who still has his hand on her back protectively. 

“Take her hand, Rory. You don’t need to be afraid of her, she’s gonna be your teacher for the whole year,” Bellamy prods, gently, and there’s something about his voice, rough and gravelly, that sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine. What the fuck, Clarke? Get your shit together. He’s the parent of one of your students, the twenty five year old thinks to herself as Rory obediently grasps her hand and lets herself be led to different parts of the classroom.

Bellamy stands off to the side, letting Clarke take control. He doesn’t seem like a helicopter parent so she cannot help but wonder why exactly he’s here so early. Rory likes the clown fish that Clarke used to decorate her name tag and Clarke’s grateful for it. She sits Rory down at her assigned desk and provides her with a piece of paper and some crayons. “How about you draw until the other students get here?” Clarke suggests gently and Rory grins and begins to draw.

Once Rory seems settled, Clarke looks up, only to see Bellamy staring her down. She feels vulnerable and almost naked underneath his gaze as she walks toward him, almost as though he’s studying her. “Can I speak to you before the other students get here?” he asks, but his tone makes it clear that she can’t say no. She nods and motions for him to follow her to the library section of the classroom, decorated with pillows shaped like sea creatures.

“Is there something you need to let me know about Rory?”

He nods and reaches into the pocket of his nondescript olive green jacket and produces a typed list of instructions. “Here’s all the things that Rory’s allergic to and the severity of her allergies. If she has an allergic reaction to anything, I will sue you and ruin your career. Do I make myself clear?”

Bellamy’s eyes flash dangerously and Clarke’s shocked, shocked that he’s this type of parent, that he dares to talk to her this way, that he seems to think so little of her that he does not trust her to keep his daughter safe. She pulls the piece of paper roughly from his hands and glances it over. Rory’s allergic to the standard array of food items: peanuts, milk, eggs. Nothing that Clarke can’t handle. She slips the list into the pocket of her jeans and tries to compose herself.

She knows she can’t cuss out on of her student’s parents on the first day of school, no matter how insufferable and arrogant he may be. 

“I’ve taken classes in children’s first aid, which covered allergies. Rory’s shouldn’t be a problem. Is there anything else I need to know about her?” she says, in her calmest, most even voice, perfected during particular brutal arguments with her mother. Her tone does not seem to assuage Bellamy’s fears and his glare intensifies. 

“She’s already reading at a third grade level. She knows how to subtract and add and I’m starting to teach her multiplication and division. She gets bored with easy tasks early and requires constant challenges to stay motivated.” He rattles off his list of concerns quickly and curtly and she just stares blankly at him, not knowing what to say. He clearly takes being a father seriously. In fact, he seems like the type of guy who takes everything seriously.

Every second she spends in his presence, her lust slowly begins to morph into hatred. 

“Okay, I’ll keep all of this in mind,” she replies, her voice clipped and cold. He notices her change in tone and responds accordingly, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s clearly not the type of person who’s used to people standing up to him and her slightest suggestion of resistance to his demands sets off something in him. 

“You better.”

He returns her coldness and then some, leaving her speechless with the intensity of his words. He’s clearly not what she expected from a parent that arrived early on the first day. She was prepared for a hovering, worried, but well meaning mother, not an arrogant, angry, demanding father who seems to think she’s a fucking idiot. She meets his glare with her own and after a few moments, they both seem to decide to call it a draw and look away from each other. More students and parents are arriving and Clarke needs to put her game face back on if she wants to survive the rest of the day. 

She turns away from Bellamy and walks toward another parent and child couple, the father dressed in a more conventional manner and the small girl beaming and excited for her first day of school. “See you at pickup,” Clarke says cooly to Bellamy as she walks by and he merely nods in response before leaving the classroom. Rory continues coloring, oblivious to the showdown that occurred between her father and her kindergarten teacher. 

This is going to be a very long year, Clarke thinks to herself, as she re-pastes her smile back onto her face and greets another parent-child set. At least this father doesn’t look like he wants to murder her.

*

Other than Bellamy, Clarke’s first day as a kindergarten teacher isn’t too terrible. The kids are sweet and most of them seem to take to her immediately, Rory included. She goes through the motions of her day without much struggle or fanfare and leaves around 5 o’clock with a smile on her face and a sense of accomplishment radiating throughout her body. “That wasn’t so bad,” she mutters to herself as she finally reaches the front door of the apartment she shares with her good friend, Raven, and lets herself in. 

Like every weekday after 5pm, Raven’s sitting on the couch, drinking a beer. She works as an mechanical engineer at an aerodynamics lab in town and her work is grueling, tedious, and by all accounts, terrible. Clarke smiles as soon as she sees her good friend, grabs a beer from the fridge, and joins Raven on the couch. “Bad day,” she asks and Raven sighs loudly in response before launching into a long tirade about her supervisor, Wick, and how insufferable he is. After listening her go on and on about Wick for a couple moments, Clarke reaches over and playfully jabs Raven in the ribs.

“You know, you talk about Wick a lot. Sounds like you have a crush on him,” Clarke teases and Raven’s eyes immediately flash dangerous and she jabs Clarke in the ribs even harder. 

“Shut up, Griffin! You would complain about how annoying he was if you had to work with him. It isn’t because I have a crush on him. I think hanging out with kindergarteners all day has made you forget what adults act like when they have ‘crushes’ on each other.” 

Immediately, Raven’s words remind Clarke of Bellamy and she lets out an angry sigh at the thought, remembering how he fucking looked at her when he thrust that list of pedantic and patronizing instructions into her hand. Raven picks up on Clarke’s anger immediately and she raises an eyebrow before taking a sip of her beer. “Something bothering you? Did a particularly hot mom or dad drop off their little one at kindergarten today?” 

Clarke makes a bitter sound in her throat and shakes her head. “There was a hot dad but then he turned out to be a total asshole. He talked to me like I was a fucking idiot and acted like leaving his kid with me was putting her in serious danger.” She practically snarls as she says it, before recounting to Raven everything Bellamy said to her. Raven raises an eyebrow, but once Clarke finishes, is just as angry as her friend is and quickly launches into a rant of her own, explaining why she thinks parents like Bellamy are what’s wrong with the world and how he’s obviously fucking his daughter up. 

Clarke appreciates Raven’s intensity but does not feel the same way. Bellamy’s a good dad. On some level, she respects how much he cares about his daughter, how he wants the absolute best for her. Rory’s a special kid, a quiet one, the type that requires extra attention and though obnoxious, Bellamy’s suggestions for how to keep his daughter engaged were helpful. Rory does require more challenging assignments and Clarke does as well. Trying to break Rory out of her shell, trying to teach her how to be confident in herself, Clarke can already tell that that will be her biggest challenge this year but she takes it on without thinking. She sees so much of herself in the little girl it almost hurts to look at her but simultaneously makes her want to be better, a better teacher, a better person, a better friend. So, when Raven finishes her rant, Clarke nods and smiles in response. 

“He’s so fucking hot though,” Clarke says, finally, and Raven laughs, short and loud, shaking her head at her best friend. “Like how hot?”

“Like, the minute I saw him, I immediately wanted to fuck him, even though his daughter was in the room.”

“As bad as when you first saw Lexa?”

Clarke pales at the memory of one of the people she’s been running away from and Raven notices, reaching out to grab Clarke’s hand. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to…” she trails off but Clarke shakes her head, grasping her friend’s hand tightly.

“It’s fine. It’s been a year. I should be over it already,” she replies, finally, before finishing her beer. Raven sighs and soothes her thumb over Clarke’s palm. 

“You can’t put a timeline on getting over someone you loved that much,” Raven supplies and Clarke recognizes her own words in Raven’s mouth and it makes her smile sadly. 

“That’s what I said to you when you found out about Finn and me.”

“Yeah, well, you were right. Lexa would want you to be happy.”

They’re words Clarke has heard at least one thousand times at this point, since Lexa’s funeral one year ago, and each time they have no impact on her, falling clumsily upon deaf ears. She knows Lexa would want her to be happy. She knows Lexa would be proud of her. But none of these sentiments replicate the feeling of what it was like to actually feel Lexa wanting her to be happy, to see Lexa’s pride in Clarke’s accomplishments, or what it felt like to be loved and cared for by someone who was as special as Lexa. Clarke chokes back tears and Raven immediately moves to comfort her, placing both their beers on the coffee table and wrapping her arms around her hurting friend. 

“I still dream about her every night,” Clarke whispers between stifled sobs and Raven pulls away from their hug for a moment, to look her in the eye.

“What happens in your dreams?”

“Me visiting her in the hospital, with all the tubes coming out of her body and the heart monitor beeping in the background. When she was in the coma…The last coma. She just looked like she was in so much pain.”

“Clarke, there was nothing you could have done. She got diagnosed with brain cancer before she even met you…..”

“I know,” Clarke manages, her voice still heavy with tears. Her and Raven have had this conversation so many times and her heart goes out to her friend for putting up with her and how fucking sad she’s become. Raven is an old friend, one who knew Clarke before Lexa, before medical school, before she effectively lost her shit, and Clarke is thankful for it, the familiarity between them. The way they met was rather unorthodox (both dated the same boy in college while he tried to keep them a secret from each other) but she’s so happy that it happened, that Raven’s in her life now. 

“Thank you,” Clarke says, finally and she pulls away from her best friend. “I’m sorry I got so emotional… I promise I’m trying to get better. I think this job is good for me. It lets me forget.” Forget about Lexa and the way she cried the last time Clarke saw her, begging Clarke to end it for her, to tell the doctor she didn’t want to be alive anymore. She shudders at the memory and Raven places her hand on Clarke’s once more.

Silence hangs heavy between them, both of them not knowing what to say. Raven breaks it first, smiling kindly at Clarke. “I don’t need your thanks or your apologies. I’m your best friend, Clarke. You don’t have to pretend everything’s okay around me. How about we order Thai takeout and watch stupid movies on Netflix? Will that take your mind off things?”

Clarke nods and beams at her friend, thankful for the distraction and the company. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she says, finally, as they settle on the couch with their pad thai and start looking through movies on Raven’s laptop. Raven smiles at her in response before saying, “probably eat less takeout,” and Clarke laughs in agreement before focusing her attention on the laptop sitting in front of them. 

*

Clarke knows she probably shouldn’t be surprised when Bellamy arrives with Rory early the next day but her heart still skips a beat when he enters the classroom, his daughter grasping his hand tightly. She looks up from the craft project that she’s been setting up for her students when they walk in and smiles warmly at Rory. “Hi Rory! Are you excited for your second day of school?” Clarke sing-songs to the young girl. Rory beams at her in return and nods eagerly. 

“Do you wanna see what we’re working on today?” Clarke asks, reaching out for the five year old’s hand. This time, Rory does not hesitate to take her teacher’s hand and Clarke sees the surprise in Bellamy’s eyes when it happens. She cannot help but feel a rush of accomplishment and Bellamy’s surprise makes it even stronger.

Clarke leads Rory to the craft station and walks her through today’s activity. It isn’t anything too difficult and Rory figures it out almost immediately. If only the other kids were this easy, Clarke finds herself thinking. It’s not that she dislikes her other students; she likes all of them, but she can already tell that Rory’s definitely the easiest out of all of them. She’s quiet and she’s smart and, just like Bellamy said, she picks things up easily. 

When she turns around, she sees Bellamy staring at her with a peculiar look on his face. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and fitted black jeans and her mouth goes dry at the sight of him. If he notices her lingering gaze, he doesn’t say anything, but she certainly notices his, the way his eyes climb their way from her New Balance sneakers to the messy bun on the top of her head. She flushes bright red but she can’t say she’s surprised. Clarke went through puberty younger than most of her friends, getting tits with an ass to match by the time she was twelve so she’s had thirteen years to get used to men staring at her. 

However, there’s something different about Bellamy’s stare. She does not feel violated, naked, or objectified like she does whenever she’s walking down the street and catches an older man in a business suit giving her a once over. He does not leer; he almost seems to be cataloguing, filing information about the way she looks into his head. 

“She likes you,” Bellamy says, finally, breaking the silence between him. Clarke raises an eyebrow before stuttering out an “oh, really?” She was not expecting her second interaction with Bellamy to be pleasant but his voice has a decidedly different tone. 

He nods and places his hands in his pockets. His eyes are now fixed on Rory and there’s such love in them, such protectiveness that it warms the place where Clarke used to have a heart, before Lexa died and left her with nothing. She finds herself smiling, a genuine one this time. “She typically doesn’t like new people, especially the first time she meets them. Only really trusts family members. Getting her through pre-school was a fucking nightmare,” he explains and she hears the tired voice of a doting parent in his words. 

“She’s a very special girl,” Clarke replies. It’s a standard response to any parent’s concerns but she means it this time, her smile lighting up her whole face. Something like a grin plays across Bellamy’s lips and it makes Clarke’s pulse stutter-stop. There’s something about his face, his mouth, his eyes that captivates her. 

His eyes make her think he could understand, understand her and all the fucking bullshit she’s been through. She glanced through the emergency contact numbers the school had given her for all her students this morning and saw that Rory was one of the only kids with only one parent on the list. Clarke had had a feeling that he was a single father when she first met him but the confirmation makes her heart go out to him. Her mother only raised her on her own from ages sixteen to eighteen but it was still difficult for both of them. She cannot imagine what it must be like to look down the barrel of thirteen more years of raising a child on your own.

“Daddy!! Look what I made!!”

Rory’s voice interrupts their collective reverie and both of them snap to attention. Another smile, a real, genuine one, flashes across Bellamy’s face and Clarke wishes she could save this moment in her mind forever, to remind her what good and kindness and love actually look like. Bellamy gets down on his knees so he can look at his daughter’s craft project and he gushes over it like it’s the best goddamn piece of art he’s ever seen. 

It reminds Clarke of the way her father used to talk about her paintings and the memory brings tears to her eyes. Even though Jake Griffin has been dead for almost ten years, that doesn’t lessen the aching, the pain. “Fuck,” she mutters underneath her breath and she turns away from the domestic scene before her and busies herself setting out crafts for the other students. 

Now she knows that becoming a kindergarten teacher was a good idea. It makes her feel again, even if it’s painful and gnawing and difficult. And that’s exactly what she needs right now. 

*

Bellamy is still obnoxious, still difficult, and still occasionally condescends to her like she’s a child but Clarke ignores all of that for Rory’s sake. Out of all of the children in Clarke’s kindergarten class, Rory’s definitely the shyest and seems to only be comfortable talking to her teacher. Other students, a particularly sweet young boy named Aden and another girl named Clarissa, are also shy but they eventually warmrd up to the other students at Mount Weather Elementary after a month or so. Rory, on the other hand, prefers to play alone, almost as though she’s scared of the other children, and it worries Clarke. 

“Should I talk to him?” Clarke asks her fellow teacher Maya as they’re walking out of the school after tidying up their classrooms. Maya frowns then shrugs. She’s the same age as Clarke but has been a teacher for longer, since she got her teacher’s certification right after she finished her bachelor’s in early childhood education. 

“Maybe. You said he’s kind of an asshole, right?” Maya says, pausing as they get close to Clarke’s car. She nods in response and Maya sighs, playing with her car keys because it’s clear she doesn’t know what to say. 

“Honestly? I’ve tried both strategies and had mixed success. Sometimes it works best to just talk to the kid first, bring over some other shy kids for them to play with and then it figures itself out. Except, sometimes, kids need to be pushed to socialize outside of school for it to really stick, you know?”

“I’ve already tried having her play with other kids and it never sticks. She talks to me the whole time. Her dad said she was really shy but I didn’t know it was gonna be this bad.”

Maya nods once, twice, before shifting from one foot to the other. She’s a natural at all of this and Clarke cannot help but be jealous that Maya knew what she wanted to do since she was six years old and entered kindergarten herself. Clarke has relied on her a little more than she expected when they first met but Maya hasn’t seemed to mind too much. 

“You should talk to him,” Maya says, finally, after taking a few moments to think. “I know he’s an asshole but he cares about his kid and if he cares about his kid, he’s gonna want her to be properly socialized. If she can’t kick this in kindergarten, it’s gonna be hard for her when she gets into first grade. Especially if you’re the only teacher she’s ever liked.”

Clarke nods. Maya’s telling her everything she already knows but she wanted a second opinion to make sure that talking to Bellamy really is the right idea. While he hasn’t thrown any lists in her face lately, she can tell he still doesn’t trust her to take care of his daughter and it constantly sending last minute emails about Rory’s needs and quirks. Thankfully, most of the other parents are far more hands off, probably because this elementary school is known as the “hippie” one, or else Clarke would be up to her ears in parent complaints and concerns. 

“I guess I’ll email him and ask if we can set up a parent-teacher conference,” Clarke says finally and Maya nods in approval. 

I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?

*

Clarke’s email to Bellamy is vague and noncommittal, not exactly saying that there’s something wrong with Rory but alluding to the fact that there is something that both of them need to talk about. He responds promptly and gives her the weirdest set of time options, suggesting that he doesn’t really work regular hours. They settle for 9am on a Saturday and she meets him at the front of the elementary school in her off-duty clothes, sweatshirt, skinny jeans, and her normal pair of sneakers. He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed and she smiles at him sheepishly. “We could have met later,” she offers and he shakes his head, glaring at her.

“I have work in two hours. This was the only time that worked for me.”

“Where do you work?”

She attempts to make small talk as she uses her keys to open up the school so they can walk inside. She usually comes in on weekends to prep for the next week and was planning on doing so this Saturday anyway so this is no inconvenience for her. Raven has been more persistent about asking Clarke to go out with her and their friends every weekend but now that she has a job, she finally has an excuse other than “my girlfriend died a year ago and whenever I get drunk, all I do is cry about it.” 

“Tattoo parlor. I’m the senior tattoo artist,” Bellamy replies and his voice is guarded, prepared for her to judge him. They walk into the school together and head toward her classroom, their steps echoing eerily throughout the empty building. Clarke raises an eyebrow, not in disapproval but in interest. 

“Really? You may not believe it looking at me, but I actually have a couple tattoos,” she says and now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow in interest because he has to know that since he hasn’t seen any of them yet, they’re all hidden underneath her clothes in intimate places that only lovers know about. She blushes as soon as she realizes the connotations of her words and fixes her attention on unlocking the door to her classroom.

“What are they of? Chinese characters, infinity symbols, bad tattoo removal jobs of ex-boyfriends’ names?”

He’s mocking her and she knows it. She fixes her mouth in a hard line and glares at him, but not for the reason he thinks. Every tattoo Clarke has is in memory of another loved one she lost: her father, Wells, Lexa. She thoughtfully designed each of them and presented them to the most well reviewed tattoo artist in the town she was living in at the time. They were more than just tattoos to her, they were permanent memorials of the people she had loved. However, she can’t tell him all of that. All she can do is muster a pitiful fake laugh and a weak, “very funny,” before opening the door to the classroom and leading them both in. 

She flicks on the lights and pulls up two adult sized chairs for both of them without meeting his eyes. He notices her discomfort and it brings a confused frown to his face because, the amount of sad she seems to be does not seem to match the mocking but innocuous nature of his comment. 

Clarke motions for him to sit down and takes the seat across from him. They sit there for a moment, in silence, sizing each other up. She can already tell this is going to be a difficult conversation so she takes a deep breath before speaking. “Mr. Blake-“ 

“Bellamy.”

“Bellamy, I just wanted to talk to you about Rory’s social progress-“

He cuts her off again: “what about it?”

“She’s having trouble making friends.”

That’s the diplomatic way to put it. The fact of the matter is that it’s the third month of school and Rory has no friends. She actively distances herself from the other students and looks horrified whenever Clarke tries to push her to interact with them. “Why does that matter?” Bellamy shoots back and it quickly becomes clear that Clarke’s in way over her head because this is definitely a sore subject.

“Kindergarten is an important time in children’s social development. If we can help them figure out problems early, they won’t be an impediment in the future. I wouldn’t have asked to talk to you unless I thought this was a serious problem.”

The phrase “serious problem” seems to set him off and he quickly crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares at her like she’s a fucking monster. “Why exactly is it a serious problem? I didn’t have that many friends when I was a kid and I’ve grown up fine.”

Part of her, the angriest, darkest parts, wants to contest this claim but she, thankfully, bites her tongue. “It’s not just that Rory doesn’t have friends. She is literally scared of the other students. Like, actively avoids them. I’m the only person she talks to. She spends most of her time sitting in the corner, drawing. It doesn’t seem like she’s having a good time…” Clarke trails off because she knows the next sentence is going to piss him off even more but she has a duty as a kindergarten teacher, one to protect the safety and wellbeing of her students.

“Is everything okay at home?”

If she thought Bellamy was angry before, he’s fucking furious now. He sits straight up and looks like he’s ready to destroy her classroom. Thankfully, he realizes that would end in arrest and remains seated but his fury is palpable. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business. I’m her teacher and I’m required by the government to inform CPS if I think anything’s amiss.” She practiced these words over and over again on her drive over but it’s so hard to sound convincing when the most angry man she’s ever seen is glaring her down. 

“Are you suggesting that you think I beat my child?” His voice is completely devoid of emotion and she can tell she’s insulted something at the very core of him and it horrifies her. 

“No, I’m not suggesting that at all. I just… she just seems really sad.” Clarke almost wants to add “as sad as I am” but she knows that’s unprofessional and would make Bellamy doubt her even more.

As soon as Clarke finishes speaking, Bellamy visibly deflates because she isn’t telling him anything that he doesn’t already know. He runs his fingers through his hair and it truly seems like, for the first time, he’s at a loss for words. “I know,” he finally manages and the defeat in his tone makes her want to cry. She thinks about reaching out to grab his hand but immediately realizes that would be a terrible idea. 

“Has she been this way for a while?”

“Ever since her mom died, yeah.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes after he says it and immediately everything clicks into place for Clarke, why he’s so overprotective, why Rory seems to like her so much, why there’s only one parent’s name on the emergency contact list, why father and daughter seem attached at the hip. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Clarke says and she genuinely means it. After a couple of moments of silence, she adds “my dad died when I was sixteen…It was really hard.”

His eyes flash dangerously again but she isn’t prepared for it this time. “Don’t act like your experiences are the same as ours. I’ve seen your nice car in the parking lot, the clothes you wear. I know you come from money. You have no idea what it’s like for us - what it’s been like for Rory!” he practically yells at her before getting up. 

Clarke stares at him in horror but the horror quickly turns to anger when he mentions her fucking car. The car that her mother bought for her so she could visit Lexa in the hospital whenever she wanted, the car she drove to Lexa’s funeral, crying the whole way, the car she drove from Connecticut to DC in so she could get the fuck away from the college campus where she and Lexa had fallen in love, all the cafes that they used to do homework together at, the hospital where Lexa begged Clarke to tell the doctor to pull the plug when the time came. Tears threaten to flow down her face and she wants to scream in his face, to tell him the story of every loss she’s ever experienced and fucking dare him to reduce her to a stupid rich girl stereotype. 

“No, I don’t know what your life has been like. But I do know that your daughter would benefit from seeing a therapist. Here’s a list I compiled earlier today. The last two specifically deal with grief.” Her voice, her face, they’re the picture of steely calm because this isn’t the time to cry, this is her fucking job. She hands the list to Bellamy and he rips it gruffly from her hands before standing up. On his way out, he chucks it into the waste bin beside the door.

“I don’t need your pity and I sure as hell don’t need your fucking list.”

It’s only after she hears his car start and speed away that Clarke lets herself cry.


	2. give me pure energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Clarke, you’re drinking like a monster.”
> 
> “Shut up, Jasper, no one asked your opinion.”
> 
> “Wait, so that’s him? The dad who’s been driving you crazy?”
> 
> Clarke, Jasper, Raven, and Monty have retreated to an empty corner of the bar while Miller talks to Bellamy, Bellamy’s sister, and Bellamy’s sister’s very intimidating, very tattooed boyfriend. Clarke cannot even remember what lame excuse she spouted when she made eye contact with Bellamy for the first time and dragged all of them over with her. Unfortunately, Miller had to be sacrificed as he was the one who invited Bellamy, the fucking traitor (not that there was anyway for him to know that Clarke and Bellamy were archenemies) and he keeps looking over at the crowd of them and mouthing “what the fuck, guys?”
> 
> “Yeah, that’s him.”

“I can’t believe he fucking did that. He threw your list away?”

Clarke’s sitting on the couch in her and Raven’s living room, drinking cheap vodka with lemon and has just told her roommate the whole story. Raven’s livid, even angrier than Clarke is, and has also been drinking for longer than Clarke has, and the combination is explosive. She’s threatened to kill Bellamy at least eight times since Clarke began telling her the story and has splashed vodka tonic all over their couch with her exaggerated hand motions explaining how exactly she would kill him, drink still in had. 

Clarke doesn’t want to be the voice of reason, telling Raven to calm down, to understand where Bellamy is coming from. She’s angrier than she’s ever been in her whole life and has been drinking since dinner to deal with it. It’s out of character behavior for her but, at this point, she really doesn’t give a fuck. 

“That’s not even what bothers me the most. It’s what he fucking said about me, like he had already figured me out,” Clarke adds, talking about what happened making her even more upset. She downs her drink quickly and then motions for Raven to refill it. Raven quickly obliges, but pours Clarke even more this time. Normally, Clarke would say something, tell Raven to slow down, but she isn’t in the mood for temperance tonight. For the first time in a long time, she’s beginning to feel like herself before Lexa’s cancer came back: full of life, feeling, passion. 

Raven nods and finishes her drink. “He’s a real piece of work,” she says, before being distracted from a text tone on her phone. She reads the message quickly before looking up hopefully at Clarke. 

“Hey, I know you haven’t been the biggest fan of going out since everything happened…last year…But, Jasper just texted me saying that him, Monty, and Miller are at that dive nearby and they wanted to know if we wanted to join?” Raven’s words have a hopeful tilt on the end of them and Clarke cannot help but smile. Raven has been trying to get her to go out again for a solid year and for the first time in a long time, she finally feels like she’s ready. Her rage toward Bellamy is enough to distract her from the pain of losing Lexa and she’s fairly confident that she won’t embarrass all her friends by spending the whole night crying, like she has before. Besides, she’s back in DC after being gone for a long time and she can’t deny that she misses her old friends. 

“Sure, I’m wearing this, though,” Clarke replies, motioning at her clothes. She’s still wearing the same outfit she wore to meet Bellamy at school and sees no point in changing. It’s not like she’s in the mood to try to get laid tonight. Raven’s dressed similarly, tight black jeans and a tank top, and she shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting dressed up either. It’s not like there’s going to be anyone we need to impress there.”

*

By the time they get to the bar, all of the shots of vodka that she and Raven had been doing all afternoon are finally starting to catch up with Clarke and she can tell they’re catching up with Raven as well. The bar they go to isn’t a particularly nice one, the type whose carpet has mysterious stains and whose regulars seem to have their asses permanently glued to the wobbly stools in front of the bar. It was the only place that didn’t ID all of them when they were in college and now they come back out of nostalgia. The gang who’s still in DC has fluctuated in size over the years but Clarke is glad she came back while Jasper, Monty, and Miller are still here. 

As soon as they walk in, Raven screams and runs to Jasper, Monty, and Miller, throwing her arms around them. Drunk Raven is an over affectionate Raven and Clarke cannot help but laugh at her friends, something like happiness spreading warmth all over her body. She calmly walks toward them before being enveloped by hugs from Raven, Jasper, Monty, and Miller all at once. 

“Thought I would never get to witness the pure badass-ness of drunk Clarke Griffin ever again,” Jasper exclaims after they’ve all disentangled themselves from each other. Raven orders all of them a round of tequila shots and Clarke feels a steady thrumming in her body unlike anything she’s felt in a while - life and promise coursing through her veins. 

She cannot help but laugh loudly and rambunctiously at Jasper’s comment, her mind suddenly flooded with memories of all the stupid shit she used to get into with her friends. “I don’t know if I was badass. I think I was just really fucked up,” she offers but Jasper shakes his head, refusing to let her off that easy.

“Do you remember the time you made out with Raven in front of Finn when he showed up at the party we were at after he had fucked both of you over?”

Raven laughs as she hands each of them tequila shots. “Of course you remember that, Jasper,” she retorts, shaking her head at him.

“Why wouldn’t he? It was the best day of his life,” Monty says, making all of them, except for Jasper, laugh hysterically. They take the shots together all at the same time, in a practiced motion because they’ve done this together one thousand times before. The tequila burns going down but in a good way and Clarke finds herself asking the bartender for another, much to the surprise but approval of all of her friends. 

“By the way, one of my army buds and his sister are gonna come by in a bit. Is that okay?” Miller asks the group but by the time he does, everyone’s just on the edge of too drunk that they really don’t care what happens. 

“Sister? Is she hot?” Jasper asks and all of them collectively roll their eyes at him. Jasper’s perpetual singlehood was a joke when they were all in college but is now becoming embarrassing. Miller roughly pushes Jasper, almost knocking the already unsteady kid off his barstool. 

“She is but she has a boyfriend and I’m pretty sure he could fucking kill you with his bare hands.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Clarke shakes her head, trying to remember the last time she laughed this hard. She wonders what she was so afraid of, not coming out for so long. These are her oldest friends and they love her, want the best for her. They all came to Lexa’s funeral and all took turns staying with her in her apartment in the weeks following. She feels so thankful for all of them at this moment and she almost forgets why she was so upset in the first place. 

That is, until she hears a very familiar voice say Miller’s name. Clarke turns around, hoping and praying that the universe isn’t that fucking cruel, but the second she does, she’s face to face with Bellamy Blake.

*

“Clarke, you’re drinking like a monster.”

“Shut up, Jasper, no one asked your opinion.”

“Wait, so that’s him? The dad who’s been driving you crazy?”

Clarke, Jasper, Raven, and Monty have retreated to an empty corner of the bar while Miller talks to Bellamy, Bellamy’s sister, and Bellamy’s sister’s very intimidating, very tattooed boyfriend. Clarke cannot even remember what lame excuse she spouted when she made eye contact with Bellamy for the first time and dragged all of them over with her. Unfortunately, Miller had to be sacrificed as he was the one who invited Bellamy, the fucking traitor (not that there was anyway for him to know that Clarke and Bellamy were archenemies) and he keeps looking over at the crowd of them and mouthing “what the fuck, guys?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Raven makes a low whistling sound before taking another sip of her beer. “You weren’t lying when you said he was really hot,” she says, after staring at Bellamy for a very long time and Clarke finds herself leaning over and punching Raven in the arm. “Shut up!”

“Wait, catch us up. You know that guy?” Monty asks and Clarke sighs before launching into the whole story, how Bellamy initially disrespected her, how she thought they had a truce, and their disastrous parent teacher conference earlier that day. After she finishes, both Monty and Jasper look stunned, mutely sipping their drinks as they process not only what happened, but how fucking furious Clarke is. 

Just after she finishes her story, Miller walks over to four of them, his face a perfect imitation of a disappointed father. “I can’t fucking bring you guys anywhere,” he begins and it’s a refrain they’ve all heard before, since Miller was always perhaps the more serious of the five of them. He opens his mouth to scold them further but Monty interjects quickly, “no offense, Miller, but Clarke says your friend is literally the worst person in the whole world.”

“I didn’t say that,” Clarke begins but she cannot hide the smug smile that’s playing across her lips now that she knows that all her friends (sans Miller, but she knows he’ll agree with her as soon as he hears the story) are on her side. Not that she had any doubts. It’s just a nice confidence boost after how fucking awful Bellamy was to her this morning. 

Miller sighs and glances over his shoulder at Bellamy and his friends, who have ordered their own drinks and look slightly confused as to what happened as soon as they walked into the bar. “Clarke, Bellamy told me what happened between you two and I know he can be a real asshole but I think you should cut him some slack. He’s been having a really hard time the past three years.” 

Miller’s plea for reason just pisses Clarke off even more. “He’s had a really hard time the past three years? And my past three years have been a fucking cake walk?” she exclaims, angrily, but she deflates a little bit when Miller sighs and just looks so fucking tired. 

“I’m not saying you’ve had the best past three years either. I’m just…. could y’all just be fucking normal for one night? Bellamy and I went through a lot of shit together when we were in the army together a couple years ago and this is one of the first night’s our schedules have matched up since I got back from my last deployment.” The pleading in his voice is hard to ignore and the four of them sigh, knowing the right thing to do is go back over and talk to Miller’s stupid friends. 

Clarke has a hard time arguing with how fucking frustrated Miller sounds and sighs. She’s drunk but she still knows that she should be the bigger person. “I’ll play nice if he does,” she says, finally, and Miller takes his victories where he can. 

“If he starts being an asshole, just let Raven know and I’m sure she’ll take care of it. I’ll even slap some sense into him, if you want me too,” Miller acquiesces and Clarke finally manages a smile for the first time since Bellamy entered the bar. 

“Me and Monty can also give ole’ Bellamy the one-two punch if needed,” Jasper adds but all four of them just laugh at him in response, even Monty. 

*

Sitting near Bellamy isn’t the absolute worst thing in the world but Clarke certainly does not feel comfortable and is starting to regret coming out tonight (though, she’s happy it isn’t for the usual reasons, namely crying all night because of Lexa). She plays nice, smiles demurely when Miller introduces all of them to his other friends (apparently Bellamy’s sister’s name is Octavia and her boyfriend’s name is Lincoln) and does the whole “oh, we’ve met before” move when he gets to Bellamy. Bellamy, to his credit, refuses to make eye contact with her, which doesn’t surprise her after the morning they had together, and she decides that the best that she can hope for is that they ignore each other for the whole night.

Jasper and Monty make conversation with Octavia, her boyfriend standing silently to the side but clearly not threatened by either of them. Miller’s right, Octavia is hot, and Clarke cannot help but find herself staring at her every couple of minutes. Lincoln is pretty sexy as well, the three of them together certainly an overwhelming trio of hotness. Too bad Bellamy’s terrible and Octavia and Lincoln are very clearly in love with each other, sneaking kisses whenever they think no one is looking (especially Bellamy). 

The terrible one in question is mostly distracted swapping army stories with Miller. Clarke sticks with Raven, drinking beers together and goofing off like they usually do. During a lull in their conversation, Raven reaches out and touches Clarke on the shoulder. “I’m sorry that asshole showed up here. I hope this doesn’t put you off going out with us forever. I know it’s been hard for you after everything that’s happened but it’s really nice having you out with us again. I was getting so bored of having to constantly listen to Jasper and Monty talk about their grow operation and how hot whatever girl walked by was. I tried to talk guys with Miller but we have completely opposite taste and it always ended in with us fighting.”

Clarke cannot help but smile at how sweet Raven’s being right now and reaches out to squeeze her arm. “It’s fine. I promise this won’t be the last time you see Clarke Griffin at a bar. I’ve been having a lot of fun too,” she replies and her words soothe Raven enough that she decides to order them another round of shots and they take them together immediately. The warm feeling from before is starting to return, especially when she sees Jasper make a fool of himself trying to impress Octavia, despite the fact her boyfriend is very much so standing next to her.

After a couple more shots, way more laughs, and a couple baskets of fries, everyone seems ready to go home and Clarke feels as though the night has been salvaged. She thanks her friends for a good night out (especially since Raven, Jasper, and Monty took turns buying her drinks to celebrate her triumphant return to partying) and starts to walk toward the door. But, just as she reaches for the doorknob, someone taps her on the shoulder. She spins around, expecting to see one of her friends staring back at her but sees Bellamy instead. Her body immediately stiffens and she takes a step away from him, expecting him to lash out.

He doesn’t though. He looks so much different from how he did from this morning, softer and more boyish. “Hey, the bar doesn’t close for another hour, would you mind staying so I could buy you a drink?”

Her eyebrows raise in complete surprise and she’s sure her expression is almost comical. Bellamy doesn’t back down, though, even as Octavia and Lincoln walk past him and say their goodbyes for the night, staring at the exchange before them skeptically. “Why would I want to do that?” Clarke finally says after his offer has hung heavy in the air for a couple moments, making both of them sufficiently uncomfortable.

“Because Miller spent at least half of tonight lecturing me about how I shouldn’t have been so shitty to you, which I already knew as soon as I drove away from the elementary school. I want to make it up to you.” It’s clear from the hard set of his jaw that apologizing makes him extremely uncomfortable, in a way that Clarke almost finds endearing.

“Hey Clarke, you coming home?” Raven calls out as she opens the door of the bar and begins to walk outside. This is it, her moment to tell him to fuck off, go home, forget any of this ever happened. However, something’s clawing at her, that feeling when she first met him that maybe he could be the person who understands her and all the bullshit she’s gone through. She remembers Miller said he hasn’t had the easiest past three years either and while that sentiment upset her at first, it does resonate with her and how fucking sad she’s been ever since Lexa had to start radiation treatments again three years ago. 

“No, I think I’m gonna stay for another drink.”

*

Sitting with Bellamy, drinking with him, is certainly really fucking awkward. He asks what she’s been drinking and she doesn’t want to say, “oh, I’ve spent all of tonight doing shots,” so she asks for a well whiskey sour and then perches on the bar stool uneasily. He orders a scotch, straight, and she almost rolls her eyes because of course he’d be that fucking guy. 

They sit there for a minute or two in silence, both probably realizing that this is a terrible idea. Clarke sips loudly at her drink and wonders how impolite it would be to just chug it, get up, and leave. 

“Your friends….seem nice.”

Bellamy’s voice cracks underneath the awkwardness of their conversation and Clarke almost wants to laugh but, thankfully, catches herself. “Your sister’s very pretty,” she counters and he lets out the long, belabored sigh of the overprotective big brother of a hot girl. She wishes she had some of the anger, some of the fire, that she had right after they spoke but after what Miller said, Clarke cannot help but feel a little… bad for Bellamy. To top off the fact that the mother of his child is dead and he has to raise her on his own, he’s also a veteran and she knows from the stories that Miller doesn’t tell but alludes to that war can really fuck a person up. 

“Listen…Clarke….I’m sorry for what I said to you and how I’ve acted… When I’m angry, I tend to really….” he trails off but Clarke quickly supplies an answer for him: “become an absolute monster from hell?”

Thankfully, he laughs at that and takes another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I think Octavia would agree with that descriptor. I had a really bad night before I drove to meet you. Rory was up all night because she kept having nightmares and Octavia usually tries to come over and help me out when she gets like that but she was cramming for the GRE and couldn’t help. And what you said…It wasn’t shit I didn’t already fucking know. I know she’s sad. I just thought it wasn’t that obvious.”

His voice trails off and Clarke’s eyes widen because this is the last thing she expected from Bellamy Blake, especially after the morning they had. “Listen, I know you don’t respect me or my profession but I know what I’m talking about. I wasn’t trying to offend you by giving you that list of therapists. I was trying to help,” she says, after a long pause, her voice stern and commanding. She may not be angry at him anymore but she still cares about Rory, still wants the best for her. She sees Bellamy stiffen at her words but, to his credit, he doesn’t say anything terrible and keeps his mouth busy with drinking. 

“It’s not that I don’t respect you or your profession, Clarke. It’s just…You won’t understand until you have kids but Rory is literally the most important person in the world to me. I’d do anything to make sure she’s safe, and that makes me absolutely fucking crazy sometimes. It had nothing to do with you as a person. It had to do with the fact that, for some stupid reason, I thought you were a threat to Rory’s safety. I know you’re not now,” he says and she nods, not knowing what else to say. She thinks on some level she understands, remembering all the completely batshit idea she had when Lexa told her that she was terminal. 

They sit in silence again and Bellamy orders another drink. She wishes she knew what to say, how to get him to realize that she understands, but she knows that’s a clumsy hope, one that seems almost impossible right now. She stretches her arms and, by doing so, pulls her sweatshirt up, revealing one of the tattoos that spans her back. She catches him looking, sees his eyes spark with interest, and she smirks before pulling her sweatshirt up a little bit more so he can see more of it. It’s an intricate design, combining geometric shapes and natural landscapes, and she’s very proud of it. She drew it the day after her father died, since he was always taking her to national parks when she was a kid, and got it inked onto her skin the minute she turned eighteen. She can tell that Bellamy is, at least a little, impressed. 

“Not a Chinese character or an infinity symbol,” she retorts and she sees a smirk break out across his face and she’s immediately reminded of how fucking hot he is. She’s been able to ignore that fact most of the time they’ve been sitting at the bar together but now, it’s all she can notice. The tattoos on his arms are pretty fucking impressive too and she wonders what it would be like to trace her fingers over the ink, over the veins in his forearms. 

“Not at all. This is some pretty impressive work. Who designed it?”

“I did.”

The surprise that flashes across his face when she claims ownership makes her laugh and she feels the warmth of the alcohol in her system once more, having felt a touch more sober after eating a whole basket of fries by herself.

“Didn’t expect my daughter’s princess kindergarten teacher to also be a talented artist,” he says, by way of an excuse, but he’s smiling too. 

“Princess?”

“I’m sorry, for the entire first week of school, Rory called you her princess teacher because she thinks, and I quote, ‘Miss Clarke’s so pretty she must be a princess.” 

Clarke flushes bright red and laughs, simultaneously flattered and mortified. She covers her ears, which have turned red as well, with her hands, shaking her head. “Oh god. I’m glad kindergarteners think I’m pretty. If only they could pass that information onto attractive people between the ages of 25 and 30.” The last sentence is a half lie; she’s been out of the dating game for a year by choice, not due to a lack of suitors. However, after being known as unavailable for so long, almost no one approaches her and she can’t see her self esteem hasn’t suffered, especially after having to listen to Raven fuck a new suitor every weekend. 

“I think attractive people between the ages of 25 and 30 are well aware,” he says, coolly, and she wants to ask him what he means by that but he downs his drink and orders another before she can say anything. She quickly follows suit and her world starts to feel fuzzy around the edges. 

“Fuck,” she mutters to herself, before pushing her half empty drink away from her. Bellamy raises an eyebrow and eyes her drink.

“Something the matter?”

“This is the drunkest I’ve been in a while. I haven’t really gone out in a…really long time. Like over a year.”

Bellamy, thankfully, does not ask why exactly it’s been a year and makes a sound of agreement in his throat. “Me too, actually. Rory’s mom’s parents offered to watch her this weekend and I took them up on it for the first time in a while.” 

She smiles, just because it seems like he needs the break. “Maybe you should take them up on it more often. You’re way less of an asshole when you’re well rested and not doing the work of two parents and then some,” she says, emboldened by her drunkenness. Much to her surprise, he doesn’t take offense to her words but nods, maybe softened by drinking and the knowledge that she’s a human being too. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

The bartender walks over to them and says that it’s last call and the bar’s about to close up. Clarke’s amazed that she and Bellamy went an hour without killing each other but knows that the alcohol and Miller’s intervention probably has something to do with it. 

“Hey, let me walk you home,” he says as they start to gather up their belongings and make their way out of the bar. She raises an eyebrow as she pulls her jacket on. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s dark out and I’m the reason you stayed later anyway and couldn’t walk home with your friends. Please, if I don’t, I’m gonna stay up all night, worrying that you got murdered or something.”

She finds her self laughing again and begrudgingly accepts his invitation. Her and Raven’s apartment isn’t too far from the bar anyway. They make small talk as they walk and she finds out the name of the tattoo shop that he works at, that Octavia’s boyfriend works with him, and that he’s from DC, just like her. Clarke finds herself quietly divulging some details about herself as well, mostly about how she knows Miller (college) and how long she’s been back in the area. There’s a comfort between them whose origin she cannot place. She tells herself it’s the alcohol but deep down, she knows that’s not the case. The longer they walk, the more personal the stories they tell are. 

She doesn’t tell him everything but she references small things, her less than stellar relationship with her mother, difficulties she had in school, her dreams of pursuing art later on in life, whenever she can find the time and the inspiration. He opens up a little bit more too, talking about when he first noticed that Rory wasn’t like other kids, that she held grief in sadness in her body just like he did. His voice cracks at one point and neither of them draw attention to that fact, not wanting to acknowledge the threads of intimacy that are gently unspooling between them. 

When they get to her place, they’ve been walking close together for a while, their hands brushing every few steps, but neither of them seem particularly upset about it. In fact, they’re sporting twin grins and she finds herself looking at him, really looking at him, for the rest time since they met and seeing so much more than an angry father who’s been driving her crazy. She sees a man trying his best. 

He’s in the middle of telling a story about the first time Rory told him she didn’t like the braids he put in her hair and he’s smiling, genuinely smiling, his eyes crinkling at the sides. She finds herself laughing harder than she ever has and she doesn’t even know why but there’s something about Bellamy and how open he’s being with her and how that openness reflects her own that makes her just feel so… safe. 

Clarke wishes she lived farther away from the bar and it’s a stealthy wish, one that sneaks up on her the closer she gets to her apartment. She had hoped that she and Bellamy would have at least struck up a truce tonight but, that’s not all that happened. She feels warmth pooling in her stomach and she realizes it’s a feeling she hasn’t felt since she buried Lexa a year ago. 

She stops walking for a moment and he pauses too, his eyes widening in confusion. “Is something wrong?” he asks and Clarke realizes tears are silently flowing down her cheeks. She flushes bright red and quickly wipes them off her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Bellamy, to his credit, doesn’t take off running when he realizes she’s crying. In fact, he does the exact opposite, reaching out to touch her shoulder. 

“I just…I’ve had a really hard three years. And tonight’s the first time I’ve felt happy. In a really long time. I think I forgot…I think I forgot what being happy felt like.”

She sees him fumbling in his pocket for something and he produces a packet of tissues (benefits of drinking with a father, she thinks to herself). They stand there, for a moment, and he pulls one of them from the packet and hands it too her. She cleans her face, thankful she isn’t wearing makeup, before fisting it into her pocket to be disposed of later. He takes a deep breath before saying, “tonight’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt happy too.”

Their words hang between them, heavy on the air with their connotations. It’s around 3am and the sounds of the city’s nightlife winding down for the night echo around them, so loud compared to how achingly quiet they are. She knows that her happiness is not totally because of him and she knows his isn’t either. They both spent time with friends tonight (the first time in a long time for both of them) and they both drank a lot. But, there’s something more to it than that. For the first time in a while, Clarke feels like someone understands. None of her friends have experienced what she has, losing someone they loved as much as Clarke loved Lexa. But, Bellamy has. She sees it in his eyes, the way he holds his body, how he talks about Rory with such desperation, such hope, such belief because he knows if he loses her, he’s done for. 

“Thanks for the drink and walking me home,” she manages, after silence seemed to stretch out infinitely between them. He seems startled by her gratitude and waves it away. 

“Don’t mention it. After the shit I said to you, I owe you one thousand drinks and one thousand walks home.”

“Is that a promise?”

Flirtation, which once seemed so foreign on her tongue, comes easily to her now and she sees him smirking in response. “Yeah, next time Miller and I go out, I’ll make sure he invites you and I’ll be such a fucking gentleman, you won’t even recognize me.” 

They laugh together and it’s a pleasant sound. “See you on Monday at drop off, then,” she says and she reaches out to shake his hand, as if to show him that this is a new beginning for them. He smiles at her and shakes her hand. His is so large compared to her hand and she feels electricity when their fingers brush against each other when they both pull away.

“See you,” Bellamy says and there’s a hopeful tilt to his words that makes her heart race. He smiles at her one more time before turning around and heading toward the Metro.

*

When she dreams that night, it isn’t of Lexa; it’s of Bellamy Blake, his wide smile, and the way his rough hand felt against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, so i know i said they'd prob bone in this chapter but i came up w/an even better idea so it's gonna have to wait until the next chapter or this chapter would have ended up being like...15,000 words. but it's definitely gonna happen in the next chapter!!! thank you so much for reading + commenting!!! y'all are so sweet n perfect! the next chapter will prob be in up in the next couple days.


	3. i fall asleep holding your hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, I’m dressing slightly nicer because Bellamy’s going to be there. Just because I don’t know him as well as you guys so I don’t want him to think I’m a schlub.”
> 
> Raven gives her a satisfied grin before opening the door to their apartment and leading the way to the Metro. “Was that so hard to admit?” Raven asks and Clarke sighs, shaking her head. 
> 
> “Not hard at all because there’s nothing to admit. As soon as we get to know Bellamy better, I’ll start showing up to bars in my worst clothes, like those sweatpants that are too big for me and that sweatshirt that’s covered in paint stains.”
> 
> Deep down, she knows she lies to Raven because it makes the lies she tells herself feel more like truth.

“So, you guys just talked?”

“Yeah, we just talked.”

Clarke knew that Raven wasn’t going to let her getting a drink with Bellamy go but she didn’t know that Raven was gonna turn it into the fucking Spanish Inquisition. She’s been asking Clarke the same string of questions for an hour straight as both of them try to soothe their hangovers by laying on the couch, watching Netflix, and drinking coconut water. None of it’s working and Clarke’s pretty sure that Raven’s constant questioning is just making her hangover even worse. 

“I don’t believe you. You absolutely despised him at approximately 7pm last night and now, at 12pm today, everything’s perfectly fine between you? People don’t go from love to hate like that without some fucking in between.”

Clarke rolls her eyes so hard it’s almost audible. “How many times do I have to tell you? We didn’t have sex. You would have known. We live in the same apartment. You always knew when I had fucked someone in college.”

“Yeah, because of how fucking loud you were.”

Clarke flushes bright red but can’t help but giggle in response, remembering an easier time when sex wasn’t so complicated and life was easier. “I’m not that loud,” she mutters, sheepishly, but they both know it’s a lie. Raven laughs, shaking her head at Clarke before throwing a pillow at her head.

“When we first moved in together our junior year, I thought that our neighborhood was overrun with cats in heat because I just couldn’t picture you, prissy, polished Clarke Griffin, as a screamer. It wasn’t until a month in that I realized that there were absolutely no cats in our apartment building and it was you.” 

Clarke’s blush intensifies and she buries her face in the pillow, trying to hide her shame. “Ugh, I hate it when you tell that story,” she finally manages, after her face has returned to its normal color.

“I’ll never tell it again if you tell me what happened between you and Bellamy.”

Clarke sighs, knowing that this is the only thing that will shut Raven up. “Nothing happened. We just talked about things and he apologized for being a dick and then insisted on walking me home because it was so late. We made small talk and he told me funny stories about his daughter. The end.”

Raven raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of her coconut water before speaking. “So, you don’t hate him anymore?”

“No, I don’t hate him anymore.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, soaking up what Clarke’s words truly mean. After three and a half months of bitching about Bellamy just as often as Raven bitched about Wick, she no longer feels a hot flash of anger whenever Raven mentions him or whenever she thinks about him. It’s a welcome change; hating people has always made Clarke feel terrible. However, it’s not just that she doesn’t hate Bellamy anymore. She has begun to feel a fondness toward him whose origin she cannot place, to the point where she’s actively looking forward to seeing him tomorrow when he drops off Rory. He wonders if he’ll stay and talk to her, or if he’ll pretend nothing happened. She sighs at the thought, nerves replacing excitement. 

“But, you don’t have feelings for him?”

Clarke lets out an exasperated sigh. It’s the eighth time Raven’s asked her since she woke up and it’s driving her crazy. “No, Raven, I don’t fucking have feelings for him!”

In the most secretive part of her heart, she hopes that if she says this lie enough times, it will become a truth.

*

There isn’t a big difference between the way Bellamy treats her now and the way he treated her before (excluding, of course, all the times he was absolutely terrible to her) but it’s definitely tangible. On Monday, after Rory becomes absorbed in the activity Clarke has set out for her students today, he, sheepishly, asks her if she has another copy of the list she had given him on Saturday. She smiles teasingly before saying, “no, you have to fish it out of the garbage,” and the shock on his face is priceless. She laughs, finding humor in the world around her used to be so foreign but that she’s started to see more and more reasons to laugh everyday. She pulls out another crisp folded copy from her pocket.

“I’m just kidding. Here it is, I printed out a new copy this morning just in case.”

The relief on his face is obvious and after a few beats, he laughs with her, his chuckle deep, dark, and low, sending vibrations through her chest. She’s reminded of the dream she had after they parted Saturday night and her heart flip-flops in her chest. His fingers brush against hers when he takes the list from her and they both jump at the sensation. She avoids his eyes once the list is in his hands and tries to busy herself with setting up crafts for her other students.

“I guess I deserve that,” he replies and there’s a smile in his voice that she just knows she has to look at. She looks back over at him and finds herself smiling too, just like the night they walked home together. They stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and that traitorous warm feeling begins stirring in Clarke’s stomach again, making her heart skip a beat and her face flush.

“Did you get home okay?” she asks, her first reference to the fact that they have spoken outside this room. It feels taboo to even talk about, even though she knows no administrators are lurking in her classroom, ready to accuse her of foul play. There isn’t a rule explicitly stating that school teachers and parents should not socialize with each other but it’s definitely discouraged. Thankfully, the only witness to their current exchange is Rory, who is finger painting like there’s no problem, completely unaware of the tension between her father and her kindergarten teacher.

Bellamy nods as he carefully re-folds the list of therapists and places it in his pocket. He’s wearing a leather jacket today and while part of her wants to roll her eyes, the other part is definitely appreciating how good he looks in it. 

“Perfectly fine. And, thanks for the list,” he says, finally, and she can tell that gratitude is hard for him to express, especially when it comes matters involving Rory. He’s trying, though, and she appreciates that. She waves his thanks away, just like he did after she thanked him for walking him home. 

“It’s no problem. It’s literally my job to do things like this. Besides, I want Rory to be happy too. I really meant it when I told you she’s a special girl. She’s a delight to teach.”

They’re simple words but they make Bellamy’s face light up in a way Clarke wasn’t expecting. Hell, he even looks a little flustered as he manages to say, “yeah, she’s pretty great,” before staring adoringly at his daughter. He moves to say goodbye to Rory, who is intensely focused on her finger painting, to the point where she swats her father away with fuchsia drenched fingers when he tries to kiss her on the cheek. Clarke giggles at the exchange, amazed and touched by what a monopoly Rory has on Bellamy’s every thought. He plays mock hurt when she refuses his kiss, until she finally says “OKAY, DAD, I GUESS” in the most exasperated tone she’s ever heard from a five year old. Bellamy finally succeeds in kissing her before making his way out of Clarke’s classroom. 

Before he leaves, he flashes her good-natured smile and a “see you later” and Clarke grins so big, she feels the muscles she uses to smile aching from being so under-utilized during the past year, but it’s a good kind of ache, the type that reminds her that she’s still here, still breathing, still alive. It’s a nice feeling, one that she wants more of and she’s slowly realizing to accomplish that, she needs to spend more time around Bellamy Blake. 

*

The next two weeks pass quietly and without much fanfare. She sees Bellamy twice a day, at drop off and pick up, and they don’t always talk, but when they do, she finds herself smiling to herself the whole drive home. She tries not to think too hard about it but, it’s hard when he sees to own every third thought she has, his face constantly appearing in her mind. 

When the second weekend arrives, Clarke feels an old but not too unfamiliar itch: to go out with her friends. She sees Raven watching her with hopeful eyes as soon as she gets home from work, emboldened by her success last week. As soon as Clarke sets down her belongings and starts to drink her post-work beer, Raven bounces in, waving her phone in Clarke’s face. 

“So, Miller texted me asking if we wanted to get drinks with him, Monty, Jasper, and…..Bellamy.” The flourish Raven puts on the last name makes Clarke roll her eyes so hard she’s surprised they don’t shoot out of her head. 

“Okay.”

“What does ‘okay’ mean?”

“It means I’ll go.”

Raven lets out a victory screech before excitedly texting Miller. Clarke laughs, simultaneously confused by Raven’s response but also not surprised at all. “I’m so happy Party Clarke is back! All thanks to Bellamy Blake,” she says through a smirk. The minute she hears Raven’s second sentence, Clarke stops laughing and shakes her head defiantly. 

“No, it’s not because of Bellamy Blake. I just finally got sick of sitting at home while you had fun.” It’s a half lie, half truth and Raven looks half convinced. 

“Whatever you say, Clarke.”

Clarke sighs, knowing this is a battle she can’t win against Raven. When Raven gets an idea in her head, she clings to it with a stubborn passion that almost seems beyond human strength. Clarke probably won’t stop hearing about how Raven’s convinced that she has a crush on Bellamy until she’s 65.

It’s only when Clarke goes into her room to change that she admits to herself that Raven has a point. While Bellamy isn’t the sole reason she’s considering going out again, he is definitely part of it. Their conversation on Saturday night reminds her off the good that can come with interacting with people, that it doesn’t all have to be pain. 

She wears a nicer outfit this time (because they’re going to a nice bar, she tells herself, but, once again, she knows Bellamy’s definitely part of the reason), a low-cut black wrap dress and a pair of high heeled boots. It’s not exactly a casual outfit but it’s certainly not a formal one and she’s received many lingering looks when she’s worn it out before. She leaves her room, only to see Raven staring at her in the slightly nicer get-up but along the same lines as Clarke’s outfit. 

“Damn, girl. I forgot how nice you look when you clean up.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at Raven before reaching for her jacket and purse. “This isn’t me ‘cleaning up,’ Raven. This is just me wearing a slightly nicer outfit than usual and actually makes me look like an adult.”

“You didn’t wear a nice outfit last time we went out.”

“Yeah, because we went to an absolute dive.”

“The bar we’re going to tonight isn’t that much nicer.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s one of those dimly lit, hip places.”

“It’s dimly lit to hide how gross it is.”

Clarke sighs, knowing this is a battle she just can’t win. Raven could go on forever and Clarke knows the way to make her lay off is to immediately admit that she’s at least a little right. “Okay, I’m dressing slightly nicer because Bellamy’’s going to be there. Just because I don’t know him as well as you guys so I don’t want him to think I’m a schlub.”

Raven gives her a satisfied grin before opening the door to their apartment and leading the way to the Metro. “Was that so hard to admit?” Raven asks and Clarke sighs, shaking her head. 

“Not hard at all because there’s nothing to admit. As soon as we get to know Bellamy better, I’ll start showing up to bars in my worst clothes, like those sweatpants that are too big for me and that sweatshirt that’s covered in paint stains.”

Deep down, she knows she lies to Raven because it makes the lies she tells herself feel more like truth.

*

The bar is slightly nicer than Raven said it was and Clarke is thankful for that. They walk in together and quickly spot Jasper, Monty, Miller, Bellamy, and Octavia. Jasper, seemingly emboldened by the fact that Octavia’s boyfriend isn’t with her today, is chatting her up and Monty and Miller are discussing their the merits of the beer selection of this place versus another bar down the street. Bellamy’s staring off into the distance, sipping on his whiskey, half-listening to all the conversations around him.

Clarke starts by greeting Monty, Miller, and Jasper, hugging each of them separately before releasing them to be put into half chokehold-half hugs by Raven. She exchanges hellos with Octavia, complimenting the younger girl’s outfit before, finally turning to Bellamy. He’s been looking at her, almost expectantly, and she’s almost overwhelmed by the momentum, the current between them. 

“How’s the whiskey here?” she asks, by way of greeting, and he raises an eyebrow at her before offering her his glass. 

“You like whiskey?”

“Bellamy, whiskey’s not a gendered thing. Girls can like whiskey.”

“I’m not saying that girls can’t like whiskey. Octavia loves whiskey. I’m just saying, you, as your own, individual person not defined by your gender, don’t seem like you would like whiskey. You seem like a clear liquor kind of person.”

He has a point, as her liquor of choice is definitely vodka, but she’s a sucker for a good whiskey sour every once in a while, which is impossible without good whiskey. She takes a sip from his glass and lets out a satisfied sigh as the whiskey slides down her throat. “It’s decent,” she says and immediately orders a whiskey sour from the bartender. Bellamy looks at her with a half approving, half mocking expression before taking his glass back from her. 

She sits down next to him and glances over her shoulder to see Raven and Miller smirking together and pointing at Clarke and Bellamy. She glares at them and gives them the middle finger before turning to face Bellamy once more. He looks more well rested than usual. 

“Are Rory’s grandparents babysitting her again this weekend?” she asks, her tone innocent and curious (though she can’t deny that there’s some ulterior motive to her asking other than making pleasant conversation). 

“Yeah, I decided to give them a break last weekend and keep the little monster all to myself but they seem to really like having her around and she likes being around adults who don’t have to go to work and who can make her cookies whenever she wants. I also like being around people over the age of 5 who can appreciate good whiskey, so, it works out for all of us.”

She raises her eyebrow at his last sentence, trying to parse out if he means he enjoys spending time with her, but before she can reach a conclusion, Octavia appears at Bellamy’s side, staring pointedly at Clarke.

“Hi Clarke. I know we met before but I just wanted to get to know you better, since Bellamy hasn’t been able to shut up about you for the past two weeks.”

Clarke and Bellamy both simultaneously turn bright red and Bellamy mutters “fuck you” in Octavia’s direction before looking up sheepishly at Clarke. “Oh, really?” Clarke manages, trying to keep her voice even and her expression completely neutral. Octavia smiles at both of them mischievously before returning to torturing Bellamy.

“Well, actually, I would say he’s mentioned you at least once a day since Rory started kindergarten but, there’s certainly been an uptick in positive mentions since two Saturdays ago.”

Clarke wishes she could come up with some kind of witty response but she’s left feeling tongue-tied, staring blankly at Octavia. Bellamy, thankfully, comes to her aide: “don’t mind her, Clarke. Now that Octavia’s happy with Lincoln and her life is perfect, she likes to spend her time meddling in mine. She thinks I have problems making friends.”

“You do have problems making friends. Miller and Lincoln are the only friends you’ve spoken to on even a weekly basis for the past three years.”

“I talk to you too.”

“I don’t count. I only answer your calls because I feel guilty that you had to learn how to braid hair after Mom couldn’t be bothered to brush mine anymore.”

They laugh together and it’s an easy, pleasant sound. “I talk to Rory,” he adds, but he’s in on the joke now. 

“Yeah, but she once told me she likes talking to me more because I’m more fun.”

Bellamy sighs dramatically before taking another sip of his drink. “Guess I can’t catch a break,” he says, finally, and Clarke finds herself giggling as she watches Octavia and Bellamy verbally spar with each other. She didn’t have a sibling growing up and she can’t help but think that if she did, she perhaps would’ve been less lonely and her father’s death wouldn’t have affected her as intensely. Octavia and Bellamy have this ease with each other that Clarke has never had with another person before, not even Raven, and she can’t help but be jealous of that. 

“So, Clarke, how did you end up being a kindergarten teacher?”

Octavia’s question catches her off guard, just because no one has really asked her that before. Her mother wrote it off as a terrible idea from the start and didn’t even ask Clarke what her reasoning was. She pauses for a moment, trying to figure out what kind of story to tell and settles for one that is mostly truth but hides perhaps the worst parts of what happened in New Haven. 

“I actually went to school to study medicine but dropped out after two years after I realized it just…wasn’t for me. I always liked kids and was a camp counselor every summer during high school so, I just figured it would be a nice change of pace.” Her voice cracks in the middle of her first sentence, once she gets to the part where she glosses over the fact that her decision to quit medical school was largely due to the fact that her girlfriend was dying of brain cancer, but she thinks she does a convincing imitation of a normal person, not paralyzed by grief. 

Octavia takes Clarke’s answer at face value and says something along the lines of “that’s so great for you” but Clarke can tell that she hasn’t exactly convinced Bellamy. He stares at her, quizzically, before taking another sip of his drink. 

“Med school to kindergarten? That’s a pretty big jump.”

“Well, I needed a pretty big change.”

Thankfully, he isn’t cruel and he doesn’t press her further, probably because he can sense the distress that started radiating from her body as soon as Octavia asked her the question. Octavia probes Clarke for more information, but most of it is casual and not panic attack inducing, mostly about where she’s from, how long she’s been back in DC, where she went to college. Bellamy interjects every once in a while but mostly, he just keeps his eyes trained on her, almost as if he’s studying, just like the first day they met. 

Finally, Octavia gets bored of interrogating Clarke and returns to making fun of Jasper with Monty (everyone’s favorite drunken pastime). Clarke finds herself breathing a sigh of relief before finishing her drink and immediately ordering another one.

“I’m sorry about that,” Bellamy says and his tone is genuine. She doesn’t meet his gaze, just because she doesn’t know if she can handle that right now after spending twenty minutes trying to figure out the best ways to sugarcoat her past. 

She waves away his apologies and takes a big gulp of her drink. “It’s fine. She’s sweet and it’s pretty clear she means well,” she offers, but her attempt at being casual and calm isn’t exactly effective and he definitely notices.

He places his hand on hers and she jumps at the sudden touch but doesn’t pull away. “Octavia doesn’t know what it’s like to want to forget your past,” Bellamy says and he soothes her palm with his thumb for a couple moments before letting her hand go. 

His touch calms her in a way she wasn’t expecting. Usually, everything about Bellamy makes her nervous and uncomfortable, especially things that remind her of the fact that she finds him really fucking hot, but, his hand on hers doesn’t feel foreign or unwelcome. Rather, it soothes the anxiety she was feeling post-Octavia questioning because it shows her that he gets it. He won’t push, like other people have when they notice that her past is a soft spot for her. 

“And you do?”

It’s a timid question but she cannot help but ask. He now knows far more about her than she does about him, due to Octavia’s rapid fire questioning, and she can’t help but want to make up the difference. He, surprisingly, does not balk at her inquiry, and nods before finishing his drink. “A fair amount, yeah. Being in the army wasn’t exactly a cakewalk and my life up until that point wasn’t that easy either.”

She nods, knowing it’s best not to press further. She gulps down the rest of her whiskey sour and asks for another one. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees Miller, Monty, Raven, Octavia, and Jasper palling around, their conversation far less serious than the one that’s occurring between her and Bellamy. In that moment, she feels so thankful for him. It’s a nice change of pace to not have to pretend that everything’s okay all the time for her friends’ sake, just so they don’t worry about her or feel sorry for her. 

Around Bellamy, Clarke can just be. She likes that, wants more of it because she’s slowly realizing it’s not that she hates talking about what’s happened to her; she just hates it when people do not understand where she’s coming from. She’s so tired of pitying looks, of half-hearted “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” of feeling as though nobody understands her. Bellamy gets it. She doesn’t have to try to make him understand, he already does, and that camaraderie makes her feel better than any grief counselor she’s been to.

“When I was in medical school, I lost someone very important to me to cancer. I was already on the fence about being a doctor, was mostly doing it to keep my mother happy, but when I saw how…medicine just doesn’t work for people sometimes…It really fucked me up. I dropped out shortly after they died.”

Bellamy nods and she suddenly realizes how close they are to each other, both of them leaning toward the other, getting as close as they can get without touching. 

“That still doesn’t explain why you decided to become a kindergarten teacher, of all things,” he says, returning to his previous question from when she gave the heavily edited version of this story to Octavia. 

Clarke sighs, facing the dilemma she has to deal with daily: how much can she possibly share about who she really is without scaring people away? It’s been hard for her, a person darker and more twisted than her looks suggest. Her whole life, everyone’s expected her to be upbeat, bubbly, beacon of hope, light, and happiness, and it was a crushing weight even before every person she loved started to die. 

After a few moments of indecision, she decides that Bellamy can handle the truth. “Honestly, because when I look at my students, I forget how sad I am. They’re just so happy and full of promise and they can be positive about almost anything because they don’t know how fucking hard being a person is yet. I like living in their world for six hours a day….” She trails off and glances over at him, his facial expression unreadable. Tremors of anxiety travel quickly throughout her body and she quickly regrets telling him. 

“God, I just realized how fucked up that sounds. I sound like some kind of vampire, sucking the youth out of innocent kindergarteners.” She lets her head fall into her hands, hiding her flushed face from him. After a few moments of letting shame wash over her, Clarke feels a reassuring hand on her back and when she peeks through her fingers, she realizes it’s Bellamy.

“You don’t sound fucked up at all, Clarke. I….I actually know exactly what you’re talking about. Rory has been my saving grace so many times when I thought life truly wasn’t worth shit, you know? Just seeing her smile at me, even when she was a tiny baby and probably had no idea who I was, that was enough.”

He rubs her back in soothing circles for a few moments, before settling his arm around her chair. It isn’t wrapped around her, but it definitely is pretty close and Clarke lets out a little sigh before pulling her hands away from her face and glancing over at him. 

“Thanks for saying that. I don’t know, I just have such a hard time talking about all these things. It’s like…people are constantly asking me such innocuous, normal questions but, for me, they open up all these old wounds and I have to pretend everything’s okay.”

They’re words that have been floating around in her mind ever since her father died but she’s never felt comfortable actually telling them to someone, other than Lexa. Raven, though an amazing friend in so many respects, hasn’t faced the same kind of struggle that Clarke has and Clarke hasn’t faced one like Raven’s either, a whip smart girl who’s clawed her way out of poverty with no one’s help but her own. From the outside, Clarke’s life should have been perfect, the daughter of two successful people from well-off families. However, once tragedy got its hooks in her, it never wanted to let her go.

Bellamy makes a sound deep in his throat and she has to glance over at him for a second before she realizes he’s agreeing with her. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” and he says it with such finality, such strength that she feels a grin stretching across her face, despite the serious and depressing nature of their conversation.

She’s smiling because this is the first time in a year that she hasn’t felt alone. 

They sit there in a pleasant silence and she wishes this moment could last forever, this feeling of togetherness and fondness. However, as soon as she thinks that, she hears Raven yelling, “hey lovebirds! We’re going to Dropship. Are y’all coming?”

Clarke flushes bright red at the word “lovebirds” and she sees Bellamy choke on his drink a little as soon as he hears it. 

“What’s Dropship?”

“A dance club.”

Bellamy immediately makes a face like that the worst thing in the whole world before taking another sip of his drink. “Can we stay here instead?” he asks and Clarke feels a flush climbing up her neck because he’s very clearly saying that he wants to stay here, with her, without their friends. 

“Er, yeah.”

He grins wider than he has since she sat down and turns around to talk to their group of friends, who are all even drunker than Bellamy and Clarke are and desperate to get a move on. “I think me and Clarke are gonna stay here,” he tells them and Clarke sees Raven’s eyes widen and an “I told you so” smile stretch across her face. 

“Have fun, losers!” Octavia calls out before her and the gang walk out, leaving Bellamy and Clarke completely alone.

“Sorry, I just hate dance clubs.”

She laughs and it’s a pleasant, uninhibited sound. Clarke orders another drink, switching to vodka tonics, and gets comfortable in her seat because she has a feeling they’re going to be here for a while. 

*

She drinks more than she has in a very long time, half because Bellamy made a comment about her obviously being a lightweight because she’s smaller than them and half because she knows she’s going to need some liquid courage, no matter where this night goes. The initial shock of being alone with Bellamy, after getting used to the comfort of the presence of Raven and the others, was a lot for her to handle at first, but she eventually gets used to it, warms up to the idea that it’s just the two of them. 

“Catch up with me, Blake,” Clarke calls out to him before taking another shot. He’s laughing, shaking his head as he stares at the shot of tequila sitting in front of him.

“I stand corrected. You may be able to drink more than me. Becoming a dad has made me weak.”

“You should have seen me and Raven in college. I think my liver’s permanently scarred from all the disgusting grain alcohol we drank.” 

She’s happy. It’s a foreign feeling, probably intensified by drinking, but she’s chasing it with all she has. He is too and their joy, their mirth, passes easily back and forth between them. It’s easy and they keep finding more and more excuses to touch, pressing their arms together as they both attempt to get the bartender’s attention (the bar has slowly filled up with people as it approached midnight). He finally notices them and sets them up with two more tequila shots. 

“Is that what I was missing out in college? Binge-drinking and liver scarification?”

Clarke gives him a small smile. She had a feeling that Bellamy hadn’t gone to college, given the way he scoffed at her and her privileged background during that parent-teacher conference that now seems so long ago. 

“Mostly. I think I fit some classes in.”

There’s a wistful look on his face and she wants to know its origin desperately. She wraps her fingers around her shot and nudges his hand, which is resting on the bar, with hers. “Ready for another one?” 

He laughs in response and sighs. “I think you might be the one who’s walking me home tonight, Clarke,” he says, before picking up the shot. 

“We’ll see about this. This could be the one that fucks me up and then we’ll both be goners.”

They take it together in unison and Clarke slams hers down on the table and lets out a long sigh as tequila burns its way down her throat. Bellamy places his on the bar without the same amount of fanfare and stares at her, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glassy. Yeah, he’s definitely drunk, way drunker than he was the last time they were at a bar together but she is too. 

“You never told me why you decided to become a tattoo artist,” Clarke asks, emboldened by the shot she just did. It’s not that she’s uncomfortable speaking to Bellamy; she just wants to give him the same courtesy he’s given her when it comes to his past. Thankfully, this does not seem to be a sensitive subject and he shrugs before speaking.

“Drawing was one of the few things that got me through serving in the army. I had liked it when I was a kid but… when you’re just surrounded by that much fucking destruction, it’s nice to have an outlet. When I came back, I decided to get one of the drawings I did tattooed on me and went to Lincoln’s shop, totally on a whim. He saw it, said I had talent, and offered to train me. I knew I needed the money, Rory was three and Gina needed a break from her dad’s mechanic shop, and, the rest is history. I’ve been working there for three years and just got promoted. It’s not what I want to do with the rest of my life but it makes decent money.”

Something about the way he talks draws her in, leaving her transfixed. It could be his voice, the rough, gravelly notes that seem to vibrate throughout her body, or the way he wraps his lips around his words. Or, it could the fact every time he speaks, she learns a little bit more about him, a clue to a mystery she has a feeling she’ll never solve. She’s listening to him, yes, but she’s also absorbing everything he says and when he finishes talking, she feels the thrumming of the alcohol through her system and her eyes stay fixed on his lips for a beat too long and he notices. His eyes flick toward hers and she knows they’re planning a dangerous game now, one that both of them have been flirting with since they first met, four months ago, in a classroom at Mount Weather Elementary. 

She leans in closer to him and traces her finger over one of his tattoos, an impressive scene that depicts Roman gods battling. “Is this one of the tattoos you were talking about?” she asks and she tries to keep her tone innocent but they both know what she’s doing and he clearly doesn’t have a problem with it. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rougher than usual and she feels his presence so much more acutely than she ever has before. It’s the alcohol, she keeps telling herself, but she can’t deny the almost magnetic pull she feels toward him, especially now that they’re making skin-to-skin contact.

“it’s really good,” she says, and she traces her fingers over the small details, her touch featherlight. He’s watching her eyes as she follows each detail of his tattoo and the way he’s looking at her sends shivers down her spine. 

“Bellamy…” Clarke starts a sentence whose end she doesn’t even know yet and trails off before she can figure it out. 

“Your place or mine?”

The certainty, the finality in his voice shocks her and she sputters, “what,” because even though she’s emboldened by liquor, she still cannot believe that Bellamy Blake, after everything they’ve been through in the four short months they’ve known each other, is asking whether they should go to her place or his.

“I like you. And I want to spend the night with you. We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to…I just…I don’t want tonight to end yet.”

The honesty in his voice catches her off guard. It’s not that she thought that Bellamy was the type of guy who would play games but, this level of honesty is unprecedented, even by Lexa, who made a hobby out of telling Clarke exactly what she wanted, just because it made Clarke blush and fidget nervously until she got Lexa alone. This isn’t performative; this is how he actually feels.

“What about Rory?”

“She’s at her grandparents’ until 7pm tomorrow.”

Her heart’s pounding in her ears and the only thing on her mind is “yes yes yes yes yes” but it’s hard to make the words actually leave her mouth. “Can we go to your place then?” she asks, finally, and he beams at her like she’s hung the moon before nodding. 

“Sure, but isn’t yours closer?”

“Yeah, but mine also has Raven and if we show up there and she’s awake, she’s going to launch a police investigation into whether we’re in love with each other and it’s going to take at least a week, maybe two.”

He chuckles before settling up their tabs (he pays for half of her drinks and doesn’t accept “no” for an answer) and then takes her hand. 

“You sure about this?” he asks and his voice is not insecure, not doubting, but careful. He’s giving her an out, in case this isn’t really what she wants, and she appreciates it but even though she’s drunk, Clarke is very sure of one thing.

She wants to spend the night with Bellamy Blake.

*

The walk and ensuing Metro ride to his apartment takes around 30 minutes and Clarke has a lot of time to think about her decision. They hold hands the whole way and even though neither of them talks much, it isn’t awkward. She has a feeling that both of them are just trying to absorb the magnitude of what they’re doing. 

His apartment is on the edge of DC, in a more affordable area (especially when compared to her apartment that’s partially paid for by her father’s estate) and Clarke wonders how he can afford Mount Weather Elementary, as it’s a kind of pricey private school in the suburbs. However, she quickly banishes that thought from her mind when he grasps her hand tightly as he leads her up the walk up and through the front door.

It’s a clean and well decorated space that feels more homey than anywhere she’s ever lived. Paintings decorate the walls (she wonders if they’re Bellamy’s work) and they are children’s toys scattered across the floor. “Sorry for the mess,” he says, sheepishly, before dropping her hand and walking into the kitchen, but she waves his apologies away.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen the damage Rory can do to my classroom. I know most of the mess is probably her fault.” 

Bellamy chuckles before bringing out a glass of water for both of them and handing it to her. “Yeah, she’s in this stage where she loves throwing her shit everywhere.”

They fall silent for a moment and Clarke takes a sip of her water. He’s looking at her, his gaze as intense as always and she doesn’t look away this time. “I meant what I said before. We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to,” he says and the kindness and warmth in his eyes making Clarke feel so safe, even though this is the first time she’s gone home with someone who isn’t Lexa in four years.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

It’s a silly question but it’s one that’s been eating away at her ever since he bought her a drink last Saturday and now she’s finally (drunkenly) brave enough to ask him. “Not pressuring you to have sex with me isn’t me being nice, Clarke. It’s common human decency.” There’s a serious look in his eyes and she can tell he’s wondering about her past experiences going home with suitors late at night.

“No, I don’t mean this specifically. I mean…ever since the last time we hung out. You’ve been so much nicer to me, after acting like you absolutely fucking despised me and everything I stood for. I’m happy things changed but I just want to know why.” 

He sighs and for the first time, she feels the weight of his experiences, his own turmoil. “There’s just…something about you. I don’t know what it is. I realized it as soon as I saw you and it scared the living shit out of me and that’s probably part of the reason I was so fucking terrible to you…”

Clarke’s hear stutters in her chest because despite how vague he’s being, she knows exactly what he’s talking about. It’s the same way she’s felt about him since the beginning.

“I don’t know how else to describe but, you know how Octavia immediately hit it off with all your friends because they’re all functional happy people....”

“Are you saying that you could immediately tell I was fucked up and that’s why you like me?”

She’s half teasing him, half not, because this is something she’s been worried about. The one or two dates she’s been on (read: that Raven forced her to go on) were with white knight types who wanted to save her from how fucking sad and lost she’s been for the past year. She doesn’t want that with Bellamy, doesn’t want him to try to save her from herself. He frowns as soon as she finishes talking and her fears are immediately assuaged.

“No, it’s not that…It’s just…I don’t have to explain shit to you. You just get it. You haven’t asked me what happened to me in the army and there’s been plenty of opportunities for you to ask me what happened between me and Rory’s mom and you just…haven’t. That thing you said before, about being worried about people asking you normal fucking questions that make you feel like shit, I’ve dealt with that my whole life. And I can tell you have too.”

His speech is fast and loose and she can tell that this is perhaps something he wouldn’t have told her if he was sober but that goes for a lot of things she’s told him tonight as well. He pulls his gaze away from her after he finishes speaking. 

“I feel the same way.”

It’s barely a whisper, her own fear, her own insecurity, almost silencing her but she manages to get it out. He immediately looks back over at her and there’s such hope, such light in his eyes that it almost makes her want to cry, but, thankfully, she’s able to hold her tears back. 

They’re still standing in the open space between his kitchen and his living room and she realizes this is kind of a silly place to have such a serious conversation. She motions for them to move to the couch and he follows. Once they’re seated, everything feels even more intimate and she finds herself reaching out for his hand, not for any strictly romantic purpose but as an anchor, keeping her tethered to the present moment here, with him. He eagerly takes it and this small connection, his touch makes everything feel less scary, even though she’s venturing into completely uncharted territory. She’s slowly realizing Bellamy is too and that knowledge comforts her in a way she wasn’t expecting.

“This is the first time I’ve gone home with someone in a really long time,” she says, finally, and it sounds more like an apology than she intends it to. He nods, absorbing the information.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

She shakes her head, afraid he misunderstood her intention. “My problem isn’t that I don’t want to do anything with you, Bellamy. It’s that I want to do everything with you. And that’s really fucking scary.”

Clarke knows she’s being vague, knows she’s being difficult, but she struggles to put words to her experiences, to describe the way it feels, being here, with him, wanting so desperately to kiss him, touch him, fuck him, but still feeling the weight of Lexa’s coffin upon her shoulders. 

He releases her hands and moves to wrap his arm around her instead. His touch is comforting in a way she wasn’t expected and she relaxes into his body, tension and nerves leaving her body. “Well, how about we start off slow, doing the little things, and see how you feel after that?”

She’s amazed at how calm and practical he can be when faced with all her baggage. She nods, pressing herself closer to his body, trying to soak up his certainty, his strength. “I’m sorry,” she says after a while, and he gives her the most confused, perplexed look.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Because. I’m damaged goods, Bellamy. You don’t deserve to be around that, with all that you have on your plate.” 

“Don’t you ever say or think that again, Clarke.” The sternness in his voice shocks her and she almost moves away from him, feeling rejected. He quickly attempts to rectify that by soothing his thumb along her collarbone. She appreciates it more than words can say and feels that warmth, that joy pooling in her stomach again because she knows he isn’t angry at her, he’s angry at the way she treats herself.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true. I’m difficult to be around.” Her tone isn’t self-pitying or overdramatic. She isn’t asking for attention. She’s plainly stating facts, ones that she has realized after being broken for so long. 

“How about you let me decide what I want to be around? I like you. All the reasons you think you’re difficult to be around are probably reasons I think you’re easier to be around than other people.” His tone leaves no room for further questions and she sighs, knowing there’s no fighting with him on this point. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She smiles in a shy way, struggling to make sense of what’s occurring between them yet accepting it completely at the same time. She’s okay with Bellamy, okay with the fact that he seems to like her for some fucked up reason, slowly trying to become okay with the fact that she likes him as well. “I’m okay with this,” she says, finally. She knows it’s not the most enthusiastic endorsement of beginning some type of romantic entanglement with another person but it’s the best she can muster, with all the uncertainty, nervousness, and the fear of betraying Lexa’s memory. Bellamy, thankfully, understands, like he always fucking does, and returns her smile, his just as gentle and unsure as hers. 

“How about we just go to sleep right now and figure out the rest in the morning?” 

She nods and before she knows what’s happening, she finds herself pressing her lips to his, propelled forward by a force she doesn’t even understand (is it her gratitude for how understanding he is? Is it the fact that whenever she looks at him, she feels the gentle bloom of affection slowly unfurling in her chest? Or, is it because there’s just something so fucking beautiful about him, that she can’t help but want to possess it). She doesn’t know and she doesn’t care and it soon becomes clear that he doesn’t care what her intentions are either, as he returns her kiss, placing his hand on the back of her head and pulling her closer.

It’s the first time Clarke’s kissed someone since Lexa and it isn’t what she expected. She had always thought that nothing could begin to match the passion, the tenderness that she and Lexa shared, how evenly matched they had always been. She expected a first kiss with anyone else to be a disappointment, unable to compete with the times when Lexa would just press Clarke up against a wall whenever she was least expecting it and take her breath away. 

Kissing Bellamy comes close. In fact, it does something different to her, her heart thrumming with the promise of his touch, his lips. He cradles her head gently and makes the softest sound when their tongues meet, causing her breath to hitch and her heart to beat even faster. Kissing Lexa reminded her of the finality of existence, how the person she was touching could be taken from her at any moment. 

But, when she kisses Bellamy, she’s struck by how much life, how much energy he has inside him, his unwillingness to give up. He kisses her like he wants to make it last forever.

When they finally pull away from each other, her heart’s beating in her ears and she feels even drunker, not with liquor but with the promise of the future. It’s the first time she’s felt like this in a very long time, like there’s actually something for her to live for, and she holds onto that feeling with all she has. 

*

They go to bed shortly after their kiss, an unspoken agreement that tonight’s too soon for anything more. He gives her one of his shirts to wear to bed, a soft t-shirt advertising a band he liked before Rory was born, and she changes into it silently, half-turning away from him out of shyness and half-wanting him to look. 

He changes too, into a ratty old shirt and sweatpants, and she does not hide the way her eyes move up and down his body, admiring his lean musculature. He catches her and laughs before pulling her into his bed and closer to him. “Like what you see?” he teases and she rolls her eyes at him, lightly pushing at his chest. 

They both get comfortable in bed separately, before Clarke feels Bellamy’s arms wrapping their way around her. “Is this okay?” he asks, his voice so tender and soft. She nods and relaxes against him. It’s the first time she’s slept in the same bed as another person and she missed it so much, the comfort of another body breathing next to hers.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” he whispers into her hair before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

 

*

It’s a cruel irony that on the first night she sleeps over at Bellamy’s apartment, she has a sex dream about him. The exact content of it escapes her when she wakes up in the morning but the way it made her feel definitely stays with her, especially when she feels his cock hard against her and remembers where she is and who she’s with.

“Morning,” he mutters, sleepily, before he pulls her even closer to him. She can tell that she’s not the only who missed sleeping beside another person and that knowledge makes her smile.

“Did you sleep okay? Past partners have complained that my cuddling tends to feel like a vice grip,” Bellamy adds before slightly loosening his hold on her so she can turn around and face him. She does so slowly, not because she doesn’t want to look him in eye but because she knows the minute she looks at him, she’ll have to confront the reality of her dream, the fact that they’re in his bed, and how nice his arms feel around her.

He kisses her lightly on the lips once they’re facing each other, carding one of his hands through her hair. “I slept fine. I didn’t mind you holding me at all. It was actually really nice,” she replies, her voice rough with sleep. The tender look in his eyes and the feeling of his body against hers makes her dream even harder to ignore and she flushes at the memory.

Clarke doesn’t know who initiates their first kiss of the morning but she knows she’s infinitely grateful for it. They kiss lazily, their bodies pressed closely together, and her dream begins even harder to ignore, especially with his hard cock pressed against her thigh. Clarke lets out a little moan and it’s a desperate one, one that begs for more, and Bellamy eagerly responds, moving his hand to the back of her neck so they’re pressed even closer together. 

After a few moments that seem to stretch out infinitely, Bellamy breaks their kiss, his eyes dark with lust and his mouth a shade pinker than it was when they first woke up. “Is this…okay?” he asks her, running his hand through her hair, and she nods, reaching out and pressing her hand to his chest.

“This is more than okay, Bellamy. I’ll tell you if it's ever not okay, promise.”

They spend the rest of the morning completely absorbed in each other, kissing and touching. She doesn’t remove any of his clothes and he doesn’t remove any of hers but that doesn’t lessen the intimacy, the intensity of it all.

Clarke finally gets back to her apartment around 3pm, after a quick breakfast with Bellamy and another hour of making out. It’s only a couple hours later that she realizes that she can’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, so they've finally kissed!!!! this fic is turning out way more slow burn-y than i expected (given my original predication that they were gonna bang in like the second chapter lol) but i think it's appropriate, given how sad n hurt both of them are!!! the next chapter should be up super soon bc it's definitely where things are about to heat up, i promise. ;-) thank you so much for reading and commenting! y'all have been so sweet and it means so much 2 me bc this fic is kind of my baby.


	4. i surrender, embrace me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you actually think we were gonna eat all of this?” 
> 
> Bellamy shakes his head, chuckling. “I think I forgot how much two adults typically eat,” he admits, finally, and Clarke nods. 
> 
> “Well, I guess we’ll have leftovers for breakfast tomorrow.”
> 
> His eyes widen and they both know what she’s just admitted: that she’s planning on sleeping over. They hadn’t discussed that possibility too much, erring on the side of caution, but her Freudian slip has blown the whole situation right open.
> 
> “You want to sleep over?”
> 
> She nods confidently, though her cheeks are tinged pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, i'm so sorry this took so long!!! personal shit happened that made writing this fic kind of hard but i finally got back in the saddle this weekend. hopefully this chapter's length and the ending make up for the long wait! ;-)

For the rest of the weekend, Clarke’s mind constantly lingers on Bellamy, to the point where he seems to own every third thought she has. He sneaks into her mind at the most inopportune moments, when she finally thinks she’s able to focus on something else, and Raven has definitely noticed.

Thankfully, for most of Saturday, Raven had been distracted by a man she had brought home Friday night, a rough and muscular senator’s son named Roan. Clarke was shocked by his presence when she finally made it home Saturday afternoon, especially because he was shirtless and sitting in her kitchen, eating cereal like it was the most normal thing in the world. He left shortly after, but not before Clarke was treated to the sound of Raven and him fucking again for at least two and a half hours (Clarke mentally made a note of the fact that Raven isn’t exactly quiet when she has sex either).

Once Roan’s gone, Clarke knows there’s no hiding from Raven and her constant questions (no matter how caught up she might have been in Roan and his very nice abs, she definitely noticed that Clarke didn’t come home last night) but she at least can counter with questions about the beefy shirtless man who was eating cereal in their kitchen. 

Raven and Clarke eat dinner together, Thai take-out again to help ease their hangovers that have lasted until 6pm, sitting cross-legged on their floor, leaning against their couch. Raven waits until Clarke is a couple bites into her pad thai before she begins her line of questioning and it’s a reprieve that she’s grateful for because she’s barely eaten since leaving Bellamy’s.

“You can’t pretend that nothing happened this time,” Raven says, wiggling her eyebrow before stealing a bite of Clarke’s pad thai. She returns the favor, spearing some of Raven’s pad see ew on her fork and stuffing it quickly into her mouth before Raven can say anything. 

“Neither could you. Who’s Mister Washboard Abs and what was he doing in our kitchen, eating cereal?”

Raven sighs, knowing that there’s no escaping that question. “Just someone I met last night at Dropship. Who you would have met as well if you weren’t fucking Bellamy Blake’s brains out all of last night,” she retorts, fixing a smug smile to her face. 

“I wasn’t fucking his brains out,” Clarke sighs, leaning against the couch. Not that she hadn’t wanted to. She’s replayed the night over and over again at least one hundred times in the past couple hours and every single time, she wishes that she had been brave enough to take that step. Before she left, he told her he didn’t know when they would be able to have his place to themselves again (and he obviously wasn’t comfortable having her over when Rory was home and she certainly wasn’t either) and she remembers how disappointed she felt at the news. He had tried to make it into a joke about the difficulties of dating a single father but it had fallen flat, just because they both realized this was the reality of their fledgling romance. 

“Really? Then what were you doing all night?”

“Talking.”

“Just talking?”

“After a lot of talking, there was some kissing…Then we went to sleep and we woke up and kissed some more. Is that enough of a play by play for you, perv?” Clarke’s tone is teasing but she cannot hide the disappointment and regret in her voice, her wish that she was strong enough to have acted on her true feelings. Raven senses Clarke’s discomfort and places her hand on Clarke’s knee.

“Is he the type of guy who likes to go slow, since he has a kid and all?”

Clarke sighs before taking another bite of her noodles. “No, I’m just an idiot who’s too scared to sleep with him, even though I really, really want to.” The self-loathing in Clarke’s words is evident and it makes Raven frown. 

“You’re not an idiot, Clarke. I think it’s a good thing that you didn’t sleep with him immediately. Maybe taking it slow is a good thing.” Raven gives Clarke a good natured smile and it fills Clarke’s heart with such affection for her best friend that she almost wants to cry. 

She squeezes Raven’s hand that’s resting on her knee in thanks, trying to communicate all the words she’s too scared to say. The love she feels for Raven overwhelms her sometimes, just because it goes against the way she’s lived her life ever since Wells died and taught her that even the love between best friends can be dangerous, damaging, tortuous, even without the passion of romantic love. However, she’s so thankful that she’s let Raven into her life, that Raven never let Clarke push her away. She would be so lost without her.

“Thanks for saying that,” she says finally after a pregnant pause fills the air between them. Raven nods, knowing the signs of Clarke starting to feel the weight of human emotion a little too acutely.

“Can I tell you I’m happy for you or will that make you feel too weird?” 

Clarke smiles, her cheeks flushing, because something about Raven’s question makes what’s happening between her and Bellamy seem even more real, even more tangible. “No, you can say you’re happy for me. I…I think I’m happy for me too.”

They spend the rest of the night going over every detail of Raven’s first meeting with Roan and everything that happened at Dropship. Apparently, Jasper ran into Clarke’s co-worker Maya there and is now hopelessly infatuated with her, Monty and Miller continued to do their usual will they-won’t they routine while pretending to be interesting in strangers, and Lincoln showed up, leading to him and Octavia spending the whole night making out in the corner and then slinking off to fuck in the bathrooms when they thought no one was looking.

“I wish you had been there to see how hard Jasper was trying to impress Maya,” Raven says, shaking her head and laughing. Clarke’s laughing too, trying to imagine what cute and enthusiastic Jasper doing everything he could to woo her co-worker.

When they go to bed, Clarke feels this lightness in her chest and she spends at least an hour, tossing and turning, trying to remember exactly how Bellamy’s lips felt against her own.

*

Clarke and Bellamy exchanged numbers toward the end of their time together on Saturday so she doesn’t know why she’s so surprised when she sees a text from him pop up on her phone Sunday afternoon. She’s spent most of the day in her classroom, prepping for the week and preparing all of her lessons for her students, when she sees his name as part of a text notification that flashes across her screen. 

Her heart thumps louder and louder in her chest as she enters her phone’s passcode and taps the message. It’s amazing how he affects her even when he isn’t in the same room or even same city as her. She reads the text message eagerly: “hey, so I got some good news and some bad news. Good news, I talked to Gina’s parents’ about babysitting and they said they’d be happy to make it a regular thing. Bad news, they’re going on a trip for the next three weeks to celebrate Gina’s dad’s retirement. So, I don’t think we’ll be able to have a night to ourselves until then.”

Clarke sighs, not expecting Bellamy’s text message to be such an emotional roller coaster. It’s only now that she realizes how desperate she is to see him, how badly she wants to be in his arms again. She knows she’ll see him everyday at pick up and drop off but she can’t kiss him, can’t touch him, can’t really talk to him then for so many reasons. She hasn’t even begun to think about whether this thing between them is even sustainable, given the fact that he’s a single father and his daughter’s her student. The year’s almost halfway over, with Christmas break in a couple weeks, and Clarke knows that the school can’t figure out that she is romantically involved with one of her student’s father’s until the year is over.

There’s also the matter of Rory. Clarke’s become unspeakably fond of the girl, even before she and Bellamy started to spend time together, but those feelings have intensified even more now that Bellamy has become a person who she thinks about often (often being an understatement). Clarke sees so much of herself in Rory, how lost and sad she is, that it just breaks her heart. 

During the Saturday morning that Clarke spent with Bellamy, he had mentioned that he had taken Rory to one of the therapist’s Clarke mentioned but that Rory had been too scared of the therapist to even talk to her. “I don’t know what to do, Clarke. She…She asks me every single night if Mommy’s going to come home from heaven because she misses her so much and I don’t know what to fucking say,” Bellamy had told her and it was the first time Clarke truly understood the hell that Bellamy lived in and how, in some ways, it was even worse than her own. She and Lexa hadn’t had a child together, one who would miss her and ask after her. No, Clarke’s torture was hers and hers only.

She shoots off a text message that she thinks is equal parts hopeful and understanding before slipping her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. Clarke spends the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on her work, but her thoughts always end up drifting back to Bellamy and by the time she drives home, she doesn’t even try to pull her mind away from him. 

*

Seeing him every morning and every afternoon is absolute torture. Clarke knew that it was going to be bad, seeing him and not being able to touch him, but she didn’t truly know how terrible, tense, and fucking turned on it was going to make her feel. He still comes early every morning and makes small talk with her as Rory gets a head start on the activity for the day but their conversations are steeped in innuendo and double meaning and sometimes he brushes his fingers over the small bones in his wrist as a goodbye when he leaves.

They text frequently and, thankfully, their text conversations are nowhere near as serious as the ones they have in person. Clarke learns more and more about Bellamy’s life and she eats every detail up and then finds herself hungry for more. She learns that Octavia, a recent college graduate who studied linguistics, has just moved in with Lincoln and that fact is driving Bellamy insane. He tells her about his endless struggle to find dinner recipes that work with Rory’s many allergies and she finds herself emailing him dinner ideas that she thinks of whenever her mind fixates on him. 

Sometimes, their conversation takes a totally different direction and she is surprised to find out that the first time they met, he thought she was unbearably attractive too. “I remember that as soon as I walked into your classroom, I wanted to walk right out just because I knew I couldn’t handle the fact that my kid’s kindergarten teacher was so fucking hot,” he texts her one Thursday night, after having a few beers after tucking Rory into bed. Confessions such as these do not come as easily for Clarke but after she spends another night tortured by how his body felt against hers, she tells him that when she touches herself, she thinks of him, and he fucking calls her as soon as he sees the message.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice rough with lust. It sends shivers down her spine and she finds herself feeling even more turned on (if that was even possible).

“Yeah, of course I did.”

Bellamy lets out a sound that is more animal than man and she finds her hands wandering to rest right above where she’s wet and wanting, her fingers toying with the drawstring of her pajama pants. 

“God, Clarke, that’s so fucking hot,” he practically growls and she hears him shifting in his bed. 

“Really?”

She doesn’t know why she’s so surprised by his attraction to her but every time he mentions it, it makes her feel so fucking good. It’s not that she’s ever lost sight of the fact that she’s an objectively attractive woman - it’s just that Bellamy’s the first person in a long time who she’s actually wanted to find her attractive. She smiles against the phone and so desperately wishes he was here, with her.

“Yeah, really…Can I ask you what you think about specifically?”

His question makes her heart quicken and she wonders what she’s gotten herself into. She has trouble remembering the last time she actually wanted another person sexually, Lexa’s death essentially killing what ever sex drive she had left after watching the person she loved battle cancer for two years. But, with Bellamy, she feels that part of herself coming back to life.

“Not the same thing all the time. Lately, I’ve been thinking about giving you head,” she almost whispers because she cannot believe she’s actually telling him this. 

“Really?” His voice is low and gruff but she can hear his smile and it gives her the confidence to keep talking.

“Yeah, I haven’t done it in a while but for some reason, the idea of doing it to you really turns me on.” She finds her hand moving even lower, until it’s resting just underneath the waistband of her underwear because talking about it is turning her on even more than thinking about it.

“How would you do it?”

His voice sends tremors throughout her body because it makes it clear he’s just as turned on as she is. She’s emboldened by his tone and she remembers the version of herself that was sexually daring, a temptress, who never shied away from telling people exactly what she wanted. Before Lexa, she had slept with a fair amount of people, an equal spread of men, women, and people who didn’t identify with the gender binary. Phone sex isn’t exactly a foreign concept to her; however, something about doing it with Bellamy seems so much more than just trying to get each other off without being in the same place. It’s making her even more comfortable with the idea of actually sleeping with him in the future. So, she decides to double down, trying to remember how 21 year old Clarke used to talk in situations such as these.

“Well, usually, I’m down on my knees and you’re standing up. I tease you for a bit, just flicking my tongue over the head of your cock until you’re twitching and desperate and just want me to actually blow you already. I finally give in and start sucking, really nice and slow, building up a rhythm…” She trails off when she realizes she’s starting to rub her clit as she’s talking. She’s wetter than she’s been in a very long time and a small moan escapes her lips.

“Fuck, Clarke, are you touching yourself right now?” Bellamy asks and it’s clear from his tone that he’s immensely turned on by the very possibility. 

“Yeah… Are you?”

She hears rustling in the background, which she can only assume is him pulling his pants down. “I am now. Keep going,” he says after a short pause and the sound of him moaning as his hand makes contact with his cock goes straight to her clit, turning her on even more. 

“Ummm…okay. After just sucking for a while, I finally deep throat you, taking you all the way inside my mouth-“

“Wait, you can do that?”

She can’t help but laugh at the boyish excitement in Bellamy’s voice. “I could when I was 21. I’m sure I still can. It isn’t rocket science, Bellamy.”

He laughs too but it soon becomes breathy as he continues to jerk himself off. She wishes she could be there, wishes that she could be touching him. The very idea makes her even wetter and she keeps tracing circles on her clit until her breath starts to shorten and stutter. It takes a few moments before she remembers that she’s supposed to be describing her sexual fantasy to him. To be quite honest, she could probably listen to him jerk off and just get off from that.

“After deep-throating you a couple times, I pull back and just suck on the head of your cock while I jerk you off. I do that for a while, until you’re begging me to let you fuck my throat again…Fuck…Bellamy, I wish you were here.” She practically whines the last sentence as she quickens her pace, her orgasm steadily building. 

“I know, Clarke. Me too. So fucking bad.” His sentence ends in a moan and she quickens her pace, wanting to finish at the same time as him.

“…I let you fuck my throat. As hard as you can. I don’t even care, I just want you to come. You hold my hair back for me and you keep telling me how good I am at it, how I’m the best you’ve ever had, and then…” She trails off because she feels her orgasm beginning to crest and from the way his breathing sounds on the other side of the phone, she can tell his is too.

“Bellamy. I’m so close,” she whines and her other hand begins to play with her nipple as she continues rubbing herself. He makes a desperate noise that she can only assume means “me too” and she pictures him, shirt rucked up, jeans pushed down just below his cock, his hair mussed up, and his eyes closed, and it’s enough to push her over the edge, announcing her orgasm with a desperate whine of “Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.” He follows shortly after her and the way his lips wrap around her name, so rough and revelatory, makes her whole body vibrate with pleasure.

They’re silent for a minute, both panting and trying to regain their composure. Clarke can’t believe she did this, that she actually had phone sex with Bellamy, and that she had enjoyed it as much as she did. It didn’t feel scary or wrong or like a betrayal to Lexa.

It felt right.

After a few more moments, she finally speaks. “How much longer until we can do that in person?”

He chuckles darkly before answering her. “One and a half more weeks.”

She grins widely. “I can’t wait.”

*

On the weekends, she goes out with Raven, Miller, Jasper, and Monty, trying to fill up her spare time that she would have otherwise spent with Bellamy. Octavia and Lincoln have joined them this particular night (exactly one week before Clarke and Bellamy’s first date) and Clarke’s grateful for it. 

It takes her a couple drinks to work up the courage to talk to Octavia beyond “hello? How are you,” and it’s mostly because Octavia has to know what’s going on between Clarke and Bellamy now (excluding the fact that they’ve started having phone sex every night). They’re sitting at a bar by her and Lincoln’s place, Lincoln having just gotten off work and Octavia having just left the library after a full day of studying for the GRE, and they’re both playing catch up. Thankfully, Octavia makes the first move, sitting down next to where Clarke has posted up at the bar, next to Raven.

“So, you and Bellamy…” she begins and there’s a half-playful, half-protective tone in her voice. Clarke knows from text exchanges that she and Bellamy have had that Octavia and his relationship isn’t exactly typical. Their mother died when Octavia was 15 and Bellamy was 21, so she came and lived with him for a while. Even before that, Bellamy seemed to have taken a more active parental role in her life, going into the workforce as soon as he graduated high school so he could start putting money away for Octavia’s college fund. So, understandably, Clarke has realized that Octavia’s opinion matters more than most little sisters’ when it comes to their big brothers’ relationships. 

Clarke takes a sip of her drink (it’s whiskey, a soft reminder of the way that Bellamy’s mouth tasted when they kissed the first time) and forces a smile. “Yeah….what has he told you?” She’s trying to sound cool and casual but, to be quite honest, part of the reason she wants to talk to Octavia was because she wants to figure out what exactly Bellamy thinks of her.

Octavia grins and settles into her seat. “Ugh, so many things. He won’t shut up about you and he always talks to me about it because he feels weird about telling Miller, since you two were such good friends in college,” she says, offhandedly and she lets out a long, belabored sigh. 

Clarke feels a blush creeping up her neck but tries to keep it under control. However, she can’t stop a genuine smile from spreading across her face and Octavia quickly notices. “Aw, you like him,” she teases but it’s clear from her tone it’s good natured. 

“I’m sorry about all the questions I asked you the last time we talked. I can be kind of protective of Bellamy. He’s so busy looking after everyone else that he has a hard time looking out for himself. But, you make him happy. And that’s good. I haven’t seen him happy for a while,” Octavia adds, her tone taking a turn for the serious. Clarke nods, her heart warming at the way the Blake siblings care for  
each other. It makes her fondness toward Bellamy intensify in a way she wasn’t suspecting. 

“He makes me happy too.”

It’s the first time Clarke’s said it to anyone but Raven and the words sit heavily on her tongue after she says them, weighed down by their significance and meaning. Bellamy does make Clarke happy, in the smallest, sweetest of ways. She finds herself grinning whenever she receives a text message from him and her heart starts beating a million beats a minute whenever he calls her late at night just to hear her voice.

Now, it gives her hope.

“Clarke, Bellamy told me that you’ve got some pretty sick tattoos,” Lincoln states and his words cause Clarke to grin pridefully. She’s very proud of her designs and while Bellamy hasn’t seen all three of them yet, what he has seen is definitely enough for him to have an opinion. 

“Yeah, I designed them myself.”

“Is it okay if I look at one? You know, from an artistic standpoint?”

Clarke nods and lifts up the bottom of her shirt, revealing the tattoo she got to memorialize her father. She can’t really show Lincoln the whole thing without taking practically being naked but does her best. He nods approvingly, studying the design with eager eyes. 

“Fuck, Clarke. That’s really good,” Octavia says, after a long pause. Lincoln nods in approval and Clarke cannot help but feel accomplished and complimented. From what Bellamy’s told her, Lincoln is a very talented tattoo artist and his opinion means a lot. 

“May I ask what your inspiration was?” Lincoln asks, his tone careful and understanding. As a tattoo artist, he must know that some tattoo’s origins are sensitive and emotional. Clarke sighs, having known that question was coming. Normally, she would panic, flounder, try to make up some stupid story to hide her true pain, before making up a lame excuse to go home. But, Lincoln and Octavia are close with Bellamy, which makes her think that perhaps if anyone could understand the tragedy that fills her life, it’s them.

She takes a deep breath before speaking. “I had it done on the two year anniversary of my dad’s death. He died when I was sixteen. We were really close so, when he died, it really affected me. He was always really supportive of me drawing and framed a lot of my work in his office. The design I got tattooed on me was one of his favorites.”

It isn’t the whole story but it’s close. Lincoln nods, his eyes warm and compassionate. “It’s a beautiful tribute,” he says, finally, and Octavia nods in agreement. 

Clarke spends the rest of the night getting to know Lincoln and Octavia. It’s hard at first, opening up to new people, but once she realizes that Lincoln and Octavia are both kind-hearted and sympathetic (no matter how hard they appearances suggest they are), stories and personal details come more easily. Octavia tells Clarke stories about growing up with Bellamy and she intends them to be embarrassing but every single one just makes Clarke’s heart flutter. Even though he’s begun to tell her more about his past, there’s still so much they haven’t talked about and each story Octavia tells is another clue to the mystery that is Bellamy Blake. 

By the time the night has ended, Clarke has exchanged numbers with both Lincoln and Octavia and made plans to stop by Lincoln’s tattoo shop sometime soon to check out his designs. “Who knows, maybe I’ll hire you too,” he teases and it’s the first time in a long time that Clarke has experienced the soft, hopeful joy that comes with making new friends.

*

The rest of the week inches by slowly, driving both Clarke and Bellamy crazy. She is quickly losing her grasp on her own sense of self control and strongly considers the pros and cons of pushing him into a closet and having her way with him whenever he lingers after dropping Rory off. She finds herself welcoming this feeling, the life and passion it gives her. It may be frustrating but it’s so much better than the dull ache of missing Lexa that used to dominate her days. 

She spends Saturday working on a new theme for her classroom, switching from under the sea to space. Clarke tries to funnel her nervous energy into cutting stars out of silver card stock and shading drawings of different planets. It’s a clumsy distraction but it makes the day go by faster and by the time 4pm rolls around, she practically speeds home to get showered, dressed, and on the Metro. 

Bellamy hasn’t told her what his plan for the night is and by the time Clarke arrives at his apartment, her mind’s racing and her heart’s thudding almost painfully quick in her chest. She knocks on his door and he opens it a split second later, almost as though he was waiting eagerly on the other side for her to arrive. 

He’s wearing a white long-sleeved t-shirt that clings to his lean musculature and his typical jeans. However, he’s also wearing an apron that’s stained with what looks like marinara sauce, his hair’s wild and plastered to his forehead, and it’s clear that he’s stressed out. “What’s going on?” she asks and he lets out a long belabored sigh, shaking his head.

“I was trying to be romantic and make you a nice Italian dinner but I’ve fucked it up. Bad. Like burnt everything. I’m usually a decent cook but…..” he trails off and she finds herself beaming at him, despite how dejected and disappointed he seems. She’s amazed at this man before her, one that has gone through so many struggles, who has seen so much pain, who is raising a child on his own in a world that’s unkind to those who do not fit the traditional familial mold, that he thinks she’s worth all this trouble. It touches her in a way that she can’t explain. 

“Why are you smiling? I basically just told you the night’s ruined.”

“The night isn’t ruined, Bellamy. I’m smiling because I think it’s so sweet that you wanted to make dinner for me. We don’t need to do anything fancy. I’d be perfectly happy just ordering some takeout.”

He looks so relieved after her comforting words that she wonders why he thought all this trouble was necessary. Does he think she only likes fancy shit? The thought gives her pause but she’s quickly distracted away from it by the way he’s smiling and pulling her into his apartment. 

The smell emanating from the kitchen is simultaneously delicious and scorched and it appears that his grand fuck up was burning the sauce. He apologizes for the smell at least five times and she waves his worries away. “It’s fine, Bellamy, really. I’m just happy to be here with you,” she says and her tone is firm and unwavering because she means it, with every inch of her body. She’s happy with him. It’s a reality that’s taken her a couple weeks to get accustomed to but every day it gets easier. She smiles so much more now, to the point where the motion no longer feels forced and foreign. It feels so natural whenever she’s around him.

He understands the significance of what she’s saying, like he always does, and he immediately embraces her tightly, his hands rubbing her back soothingly. “I’m happy to be here with you too,” he states and he places a kiss on the top of her head before releasing her from their embrace. She feels electricity from the places where his hands touched her bare skin and she lusts after that feeling, wants more of it. 

Bellamy walks into the kitchen and produces a handful of menus. “Here are some of the places nearby. What’s your favorite type of takeout?”

She looks over the menus and sees the most well-worn are those with kid-friendly options (pizza, mac and cheese, Americanized Chinese food) so she goes for one of the menus that looks slightly more appropriate for the adult palette, just because she figures Bellamy has to be sick of kid food all the time. “This Vietnamese place looks cool,” she says, after studying the menu, and Bellamy makes a sound of approval that makes it clear she’s made the right choice. 

“It’s really good. I can’t get shit from there as often as I would like because Rory is in this phase where she only wants to eat things that involve white bread and peanut butter.”

“I think some people never leave that phase.”

“Yeah, well, they’re missing out on some great food.”

He offers to order for her, stating that he has “great taste and has tried everything on the menu” and she lets him, grinning all the while. It’s nice seeing him like this, calm and easy going. She can tell that having Rory stay over her grandparents’ every once in a while is doing wonders for his sanity as he seems just so much less irritable than he was when they first met. He takes care of calling the takeout place, ordering what Clarke definitely thinks is too much food, but she’s thankful to be taken care of, for once, after a year of pushing everyone who tried to take care of her away.

“It’s gonna take 15 minutes,” Bellamy says, after hanging up the phone. They sit there for a moment, soaking in the promise this night possesses, and Clarke is quickly reminding of something that was bothering her earlier.

“Why did you want to cook something so fancy for me?”

Her tone is gentle but inquisitive and she sees him shift a little, uncomfortably. His face goes from open and easy to closed in a moment’s time and she feels her heart drop into her stomach at the change. She didn’t mean to upset him. She opens her mouth to say “forget it” but he starts speaking before she does.

“…Because I wanted to impress you. I know where you live, Clarke. You told me what college you went to and the fact that you went to Yale for medical school. I connected the fucking dots.”

Her eyebrows raise and she stares at him, completely bewildered. “And what do those dots spell out?”

“That we come from radically different backgrounds and I can’t expect you to like the same old shit that I do.”

She feels something like a sick laugh bubbling up in her throat but she quickly chokes it down. Oh, if only he knew what came with her “radically different background:” a mother who disapproves of every choice she makes, a father who was killed for a crime that wasn’t his own, a trust that she only is able to access because of her father’s death, and the infinite weight of wasted promise. She frowns, shaking her head. 

“I know we grew up in very different homes but that doesn’t mean I only like fancy food or anything like that. I hated where I grew up, Bellamy. My parents were never home and, actually, for a lot of my childhood, I ate takeout for dinner because both my parents worked late and they let me order whatever I wanted for dinner because they felt guilty. I had a really lonely childhood. I’m not trying to say I had it worse than you; I’m just saying that coming from money doesn’t guarantee happiness.”

Her words give Bellamy pause and she sees him working them over in his head for a few moments. He doesn’t seem angry with her but he isn’t exactly pleased either and her heart beats rapid-fire in her chest because she’s so fucking worried that she just ruined everything. 

“….I see. It’s just hard for me to let go of what I thought of you when I first met you.” He seems ashamed to say it but does anyway and she can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“And what was that?”

“That you were way too well-off to give someone like me the time of day.”

His words are not self-pitying or asking for her to reassure him. They’re honest and he states them plainly, staring her directly in the eye. Clarke feels anger and frustration stirring inside her, for the first time since that ill-fated Saturday morning, and she meets his gaze directly staring him down. “Is that still what you think of me?” 

“No, it’s not. Trust me, I fucking know that by now. I’m just…” He places his head in his hands and lets out a sigh of frustration. She reaches over and rubs her hand up and down his back, soothingly. It’s the first time she’s been able to comfort him, after he’s comforted her so many times, and it makes her heart sing in a way she wasn’t expecting.

“Just what?” 

“Nervous.”

He says it with such shame and dejection in his voice and looks up at her from beneath his mop of curls. Her eyes widen and she continues soothing her hand over his back. She’s surprised. She knew that her nervousness was to be expected, unremarkable, but his words ignite something in her, the knowledge that she’s not alone on this journey, that he is just as affected as she is. A grin gradually spreads across her face and she leans in and kisses him on the lips. He’s taken aback but leans in, deepening their kiss. His hand moves to cup her face and she presses herself eagerly into his touch, trying to say everything she can’t say with words with her lips and he seems to be doing the same, his fingers featherlight against her jaw. 

Suddenly, his doorbell rings and they spring apart, almost as though they’ve both been electrocuted. “It’s the takeout,” Bellamy says, breathing heavily, but he’s still looking at her like she’s the best fucking thing he’s ever seen and she’s definitely returning the gaze. He takes a deep breath, tries to compose himself, and opens the door of his apartment. He deals with the delivery man in a short, perfunctory manner, and she realizes she’s forgotten how formal and stiff he can sound, having become so accustomed to familiar, pleasant Bellamy. 

He pulls away from his interaction with the delivery man and closes the door, carrying two full bags of to-go cartons into the living room. He still looks kiss drunk and she is too, emboldened by the passion shared between them, but she does her best to maintain her composure. He hands her one of the bags and sits next to her. “I got us pho and a bunch of appetizers,” he explains, before opening one of the soup containers and handing it to her with an expectant look.

“I’ve had pho before,” Clarke replies, smiling at him but she thinks he’s cute how proud he is of his selection. She puts a handful of beansprouts and cilantro into her container (he got her tofu and she’s impressed that he remembered that she’s a vegetarian, even though she only told him once) and adds some lime and hot sauce before digging in. He carries out his own preparation ritual and then produces two spoons from the bag next to him. 

“Not pho that’s this good.”

She raises her eyebrow, wanting to challenge him, but the minute she tastes the first bite, she knows he’s right. She glares at him, knowing that’s all he wants to hear so he can gloat, and he gives her the worst shit eating grin she’s ever seen.

“It’s pretty good,” she finally admits, because she can tell that, similarly to Raven, he won’t let shit go when he thinks he’s right.

“Pretty good?”

“Fine, it’s fucking amazing. Will you leave me alone and let me eat now?”

He nods, still grinning at her, and they dig in for a couple minutes in silence because, he’s right, the pho is that good. After they’re both halfway through their bowls of soup, they start working through the appetizers and it becomes abundantly clear a few minutes later that Bellamy has ordered way too much food.

“Did you actually think we were gonna eat all of this?” 

He shakes his head, chuckling. “I think I forgot how much two adults typically eat,” he admits, finally, and she nods. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have leftovers for breakfast tomorrow.”

His eyes widen and they both know what she’s just admitted: that she’s planning on sleeping over. They hadn’t discussed that possibility too much, erring on the side of caution, but her Freudian slip has blown the whole situation right open.

“You want to sleep over?”

She nods confidently, though her cheeks are tinged pink.

“Is that okay?” she asks, after her words hang heavy on the air between them for a few moments.

“Of course it’s fucking okay. We’ve spent the past week talking every night about how much we want to fuck each other over the phone.”

They both blush at his words because it’s the first time either of them have drawn attention to what’s become their favorite activity to do together. He’s right, every night the situations they talked about got more and more explicit. She’s imagined the act of fucking him more times than she can count at this point and every single time, she becomes more comfortable with the idea. It’s not that thinking about fucking Bellamy has ever made Clarke uncomfortable (she’s always found it extremely arousing, even when he was a complete asshole to her) but there’s something different about fantasizing about fucking someone and actually dealing with the possibility of it happening. 

Because dealing with the possibility of it happening is more than dealing with the carnal facts of the matter. It also means she’s dealing with the possibility of being that vulnerable, that trusting of another person and the prospect is doing her head in. To sleep with Bellamy is to cross the finish line on “moving on from your dead ex,” according to the self-help books her mother keeps sending her, begging her daughter to move on with her life, because it’s more than a rebound booty call. It’s the acceptance of someone else. She can’t say she isn’t terrified but it isn’t in a way that paralyzes her anymore. Instead, it’s in a way that forces her to act. 

He beams at her in an almost shy way (because it’s hard to truly think of Bellamy Blake as shy) and he motions for her to sit closer to him on the couch. She moves, eagerly, and he wraps his arm around her. “Do you wanna watch a movie?” he asks, but his voice is husky and rough that all she can do is nod at his words. She burrows herself closer to him, resting her head against his chest. 

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He queues up a comedy that both of them have seen before but are fond of and they settle in. Clarke tries to focus on the movie but she’s endlessly distracted by the way Bellamy’s touch feels against her skin, the warmth it gives her.

Around the halfway point of the movie, she turns to him, wanting to tell him something that’s been nagging at her ever since he asked her to come over. 

“I haven’t slept with anyone in over a year.”

Her words seem to take a moment to hit him, partly because he’s absorbed in the movie and partly because they seem to come out of nowhere. “So?” he asks, after a long pause, soothing his thumb over her collarbone. She jumps a little at his touch, its warmth and comfort, just because whenever she anxiously thought about telling him this secret. 

“So…I don’t know…Is that weird to you?”

He gives her a look like she’s fucking crazy before shaking his head. “No. I haven’t exactly gotten around a lot during the past year either. Most women don’t exactly find 28 year old widowers with 6 year olds sexually desirable, Clarke,“ he answers and she doesn’t know why it makes her feel safer but it does. It’s not that she’s afraid that she doesn’t have the sexual prowess or experience to sleep with Bellamy; it’s more that she wants to communicate to him that this isn’t just a one night stand to her. This is something more. 

“I’m nervous,” she says, finally, mirroring his wording from earlier in the evening. She tries not to reveal her intense anxiety when she says it, trying to just make a definitive statement but her voice quivers a little and he immediately pauses the movie and turns to face her. 

“It’s okay, Clarke. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

It’s the same thing he said the first time she slept over and she appreciates the sentiment but feels as though he isn’t understanding where exactly she’s coming from. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to do anything. I just…I just am giving you a heads up that this isn’t just sex to me and if that’s what you want, I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

Her last words spill from her lips and she’s immediately uncomfortable and unsure. He looks at her like he’s thinking really hard about something and she feels more vulnerable than she ever has in her entire life. They sit there in silence a few moments and she’s pretty sure Bellamy can hear her heart beating painfully hard against her ribs.

“This isn’t just sex for me either, Clarke.” His words are firm, sure, and there’s no doubt that he means them. 

His words, his certainty ignite a fire in Clarke and she kisses him with everything she has.

*

She doesn’t know how they end up in his bedroom, doesn’t know if he turned off the television or if the movie’s even over, but she does know that Bellamy Blake is certainly a sight to behold when his shirt’s off. He pulled hers off as well as soon as their bodies made contact with his bed and tension that’s been building between them ever since they first met feels tangible, heavy in the air.

They pause for a moment, soaking in the moment. He’s on top of her, his elbows framing her head, and he’s staring right into her eyes and his expression is so warm, so open, that it overwhelms her. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his tone reverent before he begins to trail kisses from her lips down to her neck, pausing for a moment when he got to the giant chest piece that starts right below her collarbone and ended between her breasts. 

Perhaps this was the part that she was the most worried about, what she was dreading the most, the gradual reveal of the physical representations of her grief. She got this chest piece done right after Lexa had died and it’s the newest, the most fresh. The tattoo is composed of a large collection of flowers, the ones Clarke and Lexa had originally decided on for their wedding (when they were being silly and talking about the future) but ended up being displayed at Lexa’s funeral. Bellamy’s fingers trace a calla lily and he makes a sound deep in his throat as he looks over the design. “Clarke…” he begins, his tone careful and compassionate, because he’s figured out from the way she’s stiffened that something’s bothering her.

“You can ask,” she says, finally. 

“Did you get this after…that person died?”

Though she’s revealed a great deal to Bellamy (and she’s sure Octavia told him that the tattoo he so admired the first time they got a drink together was done in memory of Clarke’s dead father), she hasn’t told him all the times and places that death has touched her life. She hasn’t explained what exactly happened in Connecticut, that the person who died was more than just “a person,” she was the love of Clarke’s life. But, right now, when they’re on the precipice of such intimacy, she doesn’t want to run away, hide from him and his gentle eyes.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You don’t need to tell me everything now,” he states plainly and he presses a kiss to one of the flowers and then another. She’s so thankful for him at the moment, the first person to understand her hesitance, her pain, and she pulls him up, pressing her hands to his cheeks, so she can kiss him properly. 

His lips aren’t rough or demanding against hers. They’re gentle, making it clear to her that they can take their time getting to know each other’s bodies. She slides her hands down his back, smoothing her fingers over every scar she finds, and he wraps his arms around her tightly, making her feel so safe. A soft thrumming fills Clarke’s body and she moans when his tongue makes contact with hers, sending shivers down her spine.

Bellamy’s careful when he touches her, not wanting to push her too far, and she appreciates it but the feeling of his strong body against hers is too much for her to bear without the promise of pleasure. She arches up against him and he moans at the sensation but quickly gets the hint. Her bra’s off within seconds and he’s looking at her breasts like they’re the best fucking thing he’s ever seen. 

Before she can open her mouth to tease him, he envelops one of her nipples in his mouth and Clarke keens, her back arching and pressing herself more eagerly than she was before. She had forgotten how good sex could feel, she realizes, especially with someone you trusted. He teases her other nipple with his thumb, gentle and soft, as he flicks his tongue against the one in his mouth and the sensation is almost too much for her to bear. She’s moaning steadily now, each one progressively louder than the last, and he makes a sound against her that makes it clear that he’s enjoying getting her off.

“Bellamy, that feels so good,” she sighs and she cannot hide the note of surprise in her voice, not because she doubted his abilities, but because she never thought that she could feel this with someone other than Lexa. He grins against her breast and quickens his pace and she can’t help but press her hips up against his body, desperate for friction. 

“You sound surprised,” he teases, lifting his head from her breast and smirking at her. The look in his eyes, pupils blown wide, irises dark with lust, is better than anything she could have ever imagined and she finds herself pulling him closer to her. They’re both still wearing their jeans but she can feel his cock hard against her thigh and the thought makes her even wetter (though, she can already tell that she’s the wettest she’s been in years). He raises an eyebrow before reaching between them to unzip her jeans. She moves to unzip his too and suddenly, the only thing separating them is her black lace underwear and his boxers. 

It all feels real now. Him against her, the warmth of his body, and the tenderness of his touch. They stare at each other for a few moments, almost as if they’re both trying to absorb what’s happening between them, and there’s something like wonder in his eyes and she’s sure it’s in her eyes too. He slips his fingers into her underwear and fucking moans when he feels how wet she is and she answers him with a moan of her own as the calloused pad of his thumb makes contact with her clit. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, his voice heavy with awe, and all she can do is moan even louder as he continues to rub soft circles against her. Her hips rise to meet his hand and she finds herself wrapping her fingers around his wrist and gently pushing them downward, until they make contact with where she’s wet and wanting. 

“You want my fingers?” he asks her and his voice is so rough, so raw, that sometimes she thinks she could come just from listening to him talk. She nods, her eyes locked onto his (she doesn’t think she could look away even if she wanted to, transfixed by the way he looks at her, with such passion and roughness yet simultaneously with such tenderness and she wonders if the reason she’s waited this long is because she’s been waiting for him, Bellamy Blake, the first person in years who has been able to break through the defenses she’s been building up since her father died when she was sixteen years old).

“Say it.”

There’s a playful glint in his eye and she’s reminded of all the times he told her to describe how badly she wanted him over the phone. It felt like a game then, but now it’s so much more real. “Yes, Bellamy, I want your fingers,” she breathes and he thankfully answers her request immediately, sliding one inside of her. He thrusts it in and out of her gently at first before quickening his pace when he realizes how hungry and desperate she is for that friction, that pressure. It isn’t long before she’s begging for two and he happily obliges her.

It doesn’t take long before he finds the spot inside her that makes her breathing quicken and her soft exhales of pleasure turn into loud and desperate moans. He grins at the sounds she’s making and there’s such hope, such promise in his smile that she reaches for his face, bringing it close to hers so she can kiss him. He sighs into her mouth in such a tender way that she almost can’t take it, the unexpected softness of Bellamy Blake, and she’s no longer scared, no longer worried, no longer afraid of the pain that comes with the intimacy of sex.

“I’m ready.”

The words leave her mouth before she’s fully processing them but she knows they’re the truth. She knows that he hasn’t said that he wanted verbal confirmation of her readiness to have sex with him but she knows that they need things like this, small reassurances after being out of practice for so long. He nods and within seconds he slips off her underwear and than his boxers and then there’s nothing between them anymore. 

The sight of him fully naked truly takes her breath away because he’s just so fucking beautiful. She reaches out to trace her fingers along the prominent veins in his cock and he lets out a soft little groan as soon as she makes contact with his bare skin. Bellamy hands her a condom and Clarke slips it on for him, her fingers lingering at the base of his cock for a moment, teasing him. He shifts closer to her, moving his hands so they’re on either side of her head and he leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. 

He enters her at an achingly slow pace and it tears a moan from her throat that she didn’t even know was there. The initial stretch of his large cock entering her did hurt, but not as much as she was expecting and it’s quickly overshadowed by pleasure.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he sighs, burying his face in her hair once he’s all the way inside her and all she can do is whine in response, her hips twitching up toward his, begging for more. 

“Please, Bellamy,” she whispers, pressing kiss after kiss to his shoulders, his chest, his neck, every bit of skin she can access from her position beneath him. His body against hers offers her such comfort, such warmth, and she wraps her legs around him, bringing him even closer.

He answers her plea and begins to move, steady but gentle, not pushing himself all the way inside her but not teasing her either. They spend a few moments just getting used to each other, the lazy drag of his cock against the most sensitive parts of her cunt driving her wild and she tightens her legs around his waist, a silent prayer for more. His strokes are careful and deliberate and it’s very, very clear that he knows what he’s doing. 

“Harder!”

“Really, Clarke? You want it harder?” 

There’s a teasing tone in his voice and then suddenly, he’s moving them, rising up on his knees and lifting her legs so they’re sticking straight up in the air while she lies on her back. She sucks in a breath, her eyes transfixed on his cock which is wet with her arousal, and obediently moves her legs so the backs of them are pressed upon his chest, his hands wrapped around her ankles for leverage.

He slides into her again and the sensation is so much more intense from this angle that they make strangled noises of pleasure in unison. When he finally begins to move again, Clarke slips her hand between her legs to circle her clit in time with his thrusts and the sound he makes as her cunt tightens around him in response is maybe one of the sexiest things she’s ever heard.

His pace is relentless now, the sound of skin making contact with skin echoing throughout his bedroom, and she knows she’s saying words, filthy encouragements, but she doesn’t even know what they mean anymore and he keeps echoing them back. It’s the sexiest she’s felt in years and with every thrust she gets closer and closer and closer and he’s begging her to come, replacing the fingers rubbing her clit with his own so she can focus more completely on her orgasm.

“Come for me, Clarke,” he tells her and the husky way his lips wrap his way around those words feels just as good as the way his cock is stroking her g-spot and, suddenly, the softest bloom of pleasure unfurls deep inside her, sending tendrils of warmth and ecstasy throughout her body. His fingers are relentless on her clit and she knows the sounds she’s making are barely human (but they vaguely resemble his name) and she announces her orgasm with a half-scream, half-shout of “Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy!”

He follows shortly after her, her name a strangled whimper on his lips and his eyes foggy with pleasure. They rest there for a moment, as his orgasm washes over him, before he releases her legs and falls down next to her. 

“Wow.”

It’s a stupid phrase but it’s all Clarke can muster. She hasn’t been fucked like that in years and she lazily drapes her arm over Bellamy’s chest. He smirks at her as he disposes of the condom, tossing it into the trash can beside his bed, before pulling her close to his chest. 

“Right back at you,” he mutters against the shell of her ear and he presses a kiss to her forehead, affectionate and sweet. 

They fall asleep with their limbs still intertwined and it’s the safest Clarke thinks she’s ever felt in her whole life.


	5. you are a pale vision of blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Clarke….I don’t know how to tell you this but….there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Things that might…change the way you feel about me. And I feel shitty about keeping them from you.”
> 
> She frowns, her heart softening because she knows what it’s like to have baggage, to feel as though your experiences make you unworthy of love. “Bellamy, I’m sure nothing you could say would change the way I feel about you,” she says, firmly. The truth of the matter is, with every passing day, her feelings for Bellamy intensify, to the point where she dreams up perfect futures for them, one’s where it’s just her, Bellamy, and Rory and there’s no complications, no confusion, no difficulty. 
> 
> He sighs and sits up straight, discomfort and worry radiating off of his body in waves. Finally, he turns to face her, his expression deadly serious. “Clarke, I’ve done some fucked up things. Things that are hard to forgive. Things that I don’t think can be forgiven.”

Sometimes when he thinks she’s asleep, Bellamy cries.

Clarke doesn’t realize this until the next time she sleeps over, once winter break has started and Rory’s at her grandparents’ for the night helping them get ready for Christmas. It’s almost silent but she still hears the sharp intakes of breath, the hushed sobs, the way his body folds in on itself. The first time, she thought about tapping him on the shoulder, telling him that he’s not alone, but she always errs on the side of caution, not wanting to push him. 

Even though she knows better than to ask, she still cannot help but wonder, especially once she’s halfway through the first week of winter break and is without any proper distraction (not that much focus is needed to create lesson plans for kindergarteners). On the mornings after she’s heard him crying, he’s stiff, formal, slips into the shower before she wakes and then busies himself with making breakfast. When she joins him, he keeps conversation to a minimum but has usually made something especially elaborate for breakfast, as if that makes up for the fact that his mind’s elsewhere and he’s rushing her out of his apartment as fast as he can. 

Clarke doesn’t take it personally. She knows grief intimately and does not fault Bellamy for wanting to keep his a secret from her. They’ve reached a clumsy stalemate now, neither revealing more than they have already, and she knows that it’s a protective measure, that both of them are scared of what’s developing between them. He’s now seen all her tattoos, including the one dedicated to Wells that spans across her shoulder blades, and he’s noticed that she stiffens whenever he mentions them. He still doesn’t know about Lexa, doesn’t know about what really happened to her father (because just saying “he died” is far too simplistic of an explanation), and she hasn’t even mentioned Wells to him, knowing that would open a can of worms that neither of them is ready for.

However, she cannot deny the fact that she’s curious, that she hurts for him whenever she sees his eyes clouded with grief, that she wants to make him feel as good as he makes her feel. She wonders who he’s crying for: Rory’s mother, his mother, the war, Rory, or himself.

Clarke knows better than to think that there’s something she could say that would make everything better. She has lived with her own pain too long to think that’s a possibility. However, she can’t help but want to try, thinking that maybe if she let him know he wasn’t alone in some way that that would help. 

It’s the sixth time she’s slept over and they’re sitting on his couch, having just made and ate dinner together. Bellamy seems especially melancholy tonight and making conversation has been difficult. They’ve been watching a movie that neither of them are particularly interested in and, even though his arms are wrapped around her and she’s pressed against his chest, he feels so far away. His preemptive distance is new (usually he only starts to shut down the next morning, after crying) and she’s worried about it. 

“Bellamy….” she begins but it’s a sentence whose end she hasn’t figured out yet. His eyes are fixed on a point in the distance and she can tell he’s thinking hard about something. It takes him a few moments to realize that she’s said something and when he finally does, he gives her such a shocked and confused expression, almost as though he had forgotten that she was there. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, but his voice is heavy with his thoughts and she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t notice. She sits up straight, no longer resting upon his chest, and he gives her a quizzical look because he has to know something is up now.

“Is something bothering you?”

She struggles to say the words, not wanting to scare him off but she’s tired of pretending nothing’s wrong. He doesn’t seem to process her words immediately but once he does, his face hardens and he refuses to look her in the eye.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because you’ve barely said a word to me since I came over.”

He sighs and she sees his face contort with such pain, such anxiety, that she immediately feels terrible about saying something. She reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder and he leans into the touch, almost as though he’s been waiting for it.

“Just have a lot on my mind.” 

“I can tell….Do you wanna talk about it?”

Her question falls so awkwardly from her lips, so unpracticed in how to display emotional intimacy, that she hates herself for it. He shifts awkwardly beneath her fingertips and refuses to meet her eyes for a few moments. Clarke is starting to feel as though she’s made a terrible mistake. He takes her hand off of his shoulder and places her hand in her lap and now she’s sure of it.

“Clarke….I don’t know how to tell you this but….there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Things that might…change the way you feel about me. And I feel shitty about keeping them from you.”

She frowns, her heart softening because she knows what it’s like to have baggage, to feel as though your experiences make you unworthy of love. “Bellamy, I’m sure nothing you could say would change the way I feel about you,” she says, firmly. The truth of the matter is, with every passing day, her feelings for Bellamy intensify, to the point where she dreams up perfect futures for them, one’s where it’s just her, Bellamy, and Rory and there’s no complications, no confusion, no difficulty. 

He sighs and sits up straight, discomfort and worry radiating off of his body in waves. Finally, he turns to face her, his expression deadly serious. “Clarke, I’ve done some fucked up things. Things that are hard to forgive. Things that I don’t think can be forgiven.” 

Her heart stutters in her chest and she raises an eyebrow. “Bellamy, what are you talking about? If it’s stuff that happened when you were in Afghanistan, I understand. It’s okay.”

“It’s not just stuff that happened in Afghanistan, Clarke.”

The finality in his tone sends shivers down her spine (but not the good kind) and she feels as though her blood has turned to ice. His tone, his expression, his body, it’s all pointing to the fact that he’s about to reveal something far darker than she expected.

“I’m sure you’ve probably be wondering what happened between me and Rory’s mother,” he begins and she reaches out to grab his hand, almost as a reflex, because she can tell what he’s about to say is heavy and dark. Clarke cannot say that she hasn’t been curious, especially because of how mum Bellamy has been on the subject. However, he still doesn’t know that it wasn’t just a good friend who died in Connecticut, it was her girlfriend, so she can’t exactly be too upset about his lack of openness.

She nods and runs her thumb along the scars that decorate his hands. He doesn’t pull his hand away and she’s thankful for that because she always feels better when she’s touching Bellamy.

“She died because of me.”

Clarke’s eyes widen and she knows she’s staring at him in absolute shock, probably making him feel worse, but she can’t help it. He pulls his hand away from hers almost immediately and the loss of contact breaks her heart. 

“What do you mean?”

She tries to make her voice sound calm and collected but it’s hard to pretend everything’s normal after a confession like that. He sighs and leans back on the couch, staring off into space again. “It happened a couple weeks after I came back from my last tour in Afghanistan. Things hadn’t been good between us for a while. She didn’t like that I kept going back, wanted me to be around more for Rory. She was only 3 and I had missed a lot of shit by that point because I kept going back to Afghanistan.”

“Why did you keep going back?” she asks, her voice quiet and timid. She’s still smarting from how he pulled his hand away from her.

He looks at his hands in a desperate, sad way, as if remembering all the terrible things he’s done with them. “Because…War was easy for me. Hell, I was fucking good at it. I joined the military as soon as I found out Gina was pregnant because I thought it was the right thing to do. It was a good career that meant that I could provide for them and Octavia. And then…after I served my required tours I just…I just kept going back. Being a father, being a husband, it was so much scarier to me than risking my life, you know?”

She nods as if she understands but she knows there’s no way she ever will. She’s always known that the darkness that clouds Bellamy’s mind was of a far more malignant nature than her own, given the differences in their upbringings and the fact that he’s a veteran, but she never knew just how tortured he truly was. Bellamy’s been through so much. He’s seen so much. She’ll never completely understand him and that knowledge has always made her feel weak and unworthy in a way she wasn’t expecting.

“Was Rory planned?” she asks, after a long pause. It’s another question that she’s had for a while but has always been too scared to ask. 

He laughs in a tired, broken way, shaking his head. “Far from it. When Gina got pregnant, she and I had only been dating for three months. I can’t even fucking remember why we decided it was a good idea….We were both only 22 and I guess I just…I was so desperate for a family, you know? A real one, where the dad sticks around and the mom isn’t addicted to drugs. I thought we could do it. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

It breaks her heart to see how hard he is on himself. From where Clarke’s sitting, Bellamy’s done an amazing job, raised a beautiful, lovely, smart girl who would have been Clarke’s favorite student even if she wasn’t dating Rory’s father. Her frown intensifies and she wraps her arms around her own body, wishing that they were wrapped around Bellamy instead.

“You’ve done a good job, Bell. Rory’s an amazing kid.”

Another bitter laugh leaves Bellamy’s lips and she feels her heart breaking even more. “Gina was always a better parent than I was. She had a knack for it. Rory absolutely adored her, thought she hung the moon. Me? I was the stranger who she saw for maybe three months out of the year.”

“Bellamy, don’t say that. Rory loves you so much.”

“She does. But, as soon as she’s old enough to find out what I did to her mother, I don’t think she will anymore.”

The finality, the certainty in his voice makes it clear that this something he’s thought about a lot. His hand falls into his hands and she sees a lone tear sliding down his cheek. He rubs it away quickly and removes his hands from his face, refusing to look her in the eye. She can’t help but reach out for him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, and, thankfully, he’s too caught up in his grief to push her away this time.

“What happened?” she asks, after she’s given him a few moments to recover.

“The night it happened…I had just gotten back and it had been a rough tour. A lot of my people had died and l felt responsible. Being around Rory and Gina just made it all worse because….because I didn’t understand why I got to survive, you know? Why I had a loving wife and a cute kid and could barely fucking appreciate it and got to go home to them but they didn’t….It was fucking with my head. And Gina…I could tell she was getting fed up with me and how I just couldn’t fucking be happy. We got into a really bad fight, said all the shit both of us had been thinking for three years, and she was just…she was so fucking angry with me. Told me that there was something seriously wrong with me and that I was fucking up the one good thing in my life for a war I didn’t even believe in. She told me she thought I liked killing people. She called me a monster.”

His last sentence comes out choked up and thick with tears. Tears start to silently roll down his cheeks and Clarke slowly realizes that she’s crying too, hurt by how much Bellamy hates himself. “Bellamy,” she breathes and wraps her arms around him as tight as she can, in a close embrace, and he doesn’t pull away this time. Instead, he pulls her close, pressing his face into her chest and it’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen another person be with her. Clarke soothes her hand up and down his back, like he always does to her whenever he can tell she’s having a hard time, and he makes a soft sound in his throat.

They hold each other like that for a while and Clarke presses kiss after kiss to his temple, his forehead, anywhere she can reach. He grasps her tighter, like she’s the only thing keeping him anchored to reality, and she’s reminded of how she held Lexa when the doctor told her that she was terminal, how they cried together all night and whispered “I love you” over and over again, as if that could save them.

He pulls away from her after a long time, tears no longer spilling from his eyes but his expression still haunted by the memory of what Gina said to him that night. “We don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want to,” she says, after a long pause, but to her surprise, he shakes his head almost immediately, as if the very idea of stopping is laughable.

“No, I need to finish telling you.”

There’s distance between them again and she wishes so desperately to close it. She reaches out to hold his head and he accepts the gesture, seems thankful for it. She understands his need to finish, to expel all of his pain, all of his suffering at once. If she ever gets up the courage to tell him about Lexa, she’ll probably do the same thing.

“After our fight, she was really angry. Said she couldn’t look at me anymore so she took off to her parents’ house, living me with Rory. She was still really upset when she was driving, not thinking straight. At least that’s how the witnesses described what probably happened.”

“Witnesses?”

“She drove into incoming traffic on the highway. Got t-boned by someone going almost 80 miles per hour and her car flipped over at least five times. They said that she died on impact.”

Clarke lets out a slow exhale, her eyes widening once more. 

“I’ll never forget the sound Rory made when I told her what happened. It almost made me lose my mind. She was only 3. She couldn’t stop crying for 5 straight days, kept asking if Mommy was coming home. It…If it wasn’t for Gina’s parents and Octavia helping out….” 

He pauses and takes a deep shuddering breath. She reaches for his other hand and he lets her grab it, soothing his thumb over her palm. “Gina wouldn’t have gotten in that car and driven away if it wasn’t for me and my fucking inability to be a normal, functioning person,” he says, finally, his voice devoid of emotion. 

When he says those words, something breaks in Clarke. It hurts her so much to know that this is what he thinks of himself and after listening to him say such terrible things all night, she cannot take it anymore. Bellamy is one of the best people she’s met in her whole life. She can’t believe she thinks that now, after the circumstances of their first meeting, but it’s truly how she feels. She’s never met anyone so kind, so caring, so just that to hear him speak that way about himself, it’s doing her head in. 

“Bellamy, stop saying things like that! There’s nothing wrong with you! You’re not a monster and you’re not dysfunctional and you’re not broken!”

The words leave her mouth in rapid succession and she doesn’t even realize what she’s saying until a few seconds afterward, when he’s staring at her in disbelief. She’s shaking a little but there’s a fire burning within her, one whose origin she doesn’t even understand, and she can’t stop now, not until he realizes how good and perfect he truly is to her. “I know how you feel. When…when Lexa died, I blamed myself. Over and over again. I thought there was something I could have done, that maybe if I had been a doctor already or if I had made sure she took all of her medication, or if I loved her enough, she wouldn’t have died. But, there was nothing I could do. But, it wasn’t my fault. And Gina’s death isn’t your fault either.”

He stares at her in shock, mouth slightly agape, and silence sits heavily between them. Her breathing is rapid and she can’t remember the last time she talked like this, full of passion and fire and life. When she’s around Bellamy, she’s realized, she no longer feels like she’s treading water, waiting for her pain to end. Instead, she feels like an actual participant in the world, someone who’s actually living their life. Bellamy’s shown her life is worth living.

“Who’s Lexa?”

His question is gentle, quiet and she sighs. She knows that this was coming, that she owes Bellamy a full explanation just like he’s given her. 

“Lexa was the person I lost in Connecticut. She was my girlfriend. We started dating my junior year of college. She had brain cancer when she was a kid and they thought she beat it but it came back when I started medical school….She died last year.”

Her words hang heavy on the air and neither of them speak for a while. He begins soothing circles against her palm, the only sign that he’s processed anything she’s said. 

“Bellamy, you’re the first person who’s made me feel…anything since Lexa died. I was so numb. I went through life like a zombie. The second I met you, everything changed. Even though you made me angry, you made me…feel. I hadn’t been able to do that. For a very long time. And then you listened to me and you understood me and you made me feel like I wasn’t alone. You wouldn’t have been able to do that if you were a monster, Bellamy.”

She’s crying again but she isn’t ashamed, doesn’t let her voice waver. He’s giving her a look whose origin she doesn’t quite understand but it’s so intense that it makes her pulse stutter. 

“You mean that?”

The words catch her off guard because he’s been silent for such a long time. All she can do is nod, smiling all the while, because the soft cadence of his voice, the way he’s looking at her, it makes it seem like she’s finally gotten through to him and that knowledge, that feeling makes her heart sing. 

“I do. If you need forgiveness, I can give that to you. Bellamy, you’re forgiven.”

The second those words leave her mouth, he pulls her close again, shocking her and knocking the breath out of her. His face is wet with tears once more but there’s something like a smile playing across his lips. 

“Clarke, you’re forgiven too.”

They don’t have sex that night. They’re both too rundown, too emotionally drained. However, when they go to bed together, he wraps his arms around her as tightly as he possibly can and whispers a hushed “thank you” against her hair.

He doesn’t cry that night. Instead, he kisses her awake and asks her what’s her favorite thing to eat for breakfast. When she says blueberry pancakes, he leaps up and spends the whole morning making the most decadent and amazing homemade breakfast she’s ever had. 

They eat their pancakes sitting on the floor, backs pressed up against his couch, a Netflix show they don’t particularly care about playing in the background. They sit side by side their knees knocking into each other every once in a while and she’s either smiling or laughing throughout their entire conversation. 

“I’m happy I met you,” he says, when she’s getting ready to go. It’s a simple sentence and it’s far less romantic or passionate than it could have been but she’s realized, with Bellamy, even the most ordinary words are loaded with the most extraordinary significance. She beams at him as soon as he says it, reaching out for his hand.

“I’m happy I met you too.”

 

*

There’s a new dimension to their relationship now, one whose origin can certainly be traced back to that night. She doesn’t know quite what it means or how exactly things have changed but it’s tangible, something she can feel in the air between them. They still talk every night on the phone but whatever barriers used to exist between them have evaporated into thin air and they talk easily now. 

Unfortunately, with the added intimacy between them comes an urge to see each other far more often than they already do. Bellamy feels guilty about spending more than one night away from Rory and so she only sleeps over once a weekend. He’s at least told Gina’s parents that the reason he needs a babysitter so often is because he’s seeing someone (something he was very nervous about telling them) and they took it very well, stating that they just want him to be happy.

They haven’t labeled what they have yet. Raven’s asked Clarke at least a hundred times at this point if Bellamy’s her boyfriend and all Clarke can say is “we’re taking things slow.” However, those words don’t stop her heart from quickening whenever she thinks about the idea of Bellamy being hers in that way. 

They’re both scared. They haven’t talked about it explicitly but she can tell that fear is at the core of their unwillingness to have a conversation about what they truly are to each other. The closest they got is when, one night, he asks gruffly if she’s seeing anyone else, anxiety written all over his facial features, and she almost laughs at him because the very idea sounds completely ridiculous. 

Winter break comes and goes. He celebrates Christmas with Gina’s family and Octavia and Lincoln and she celebrates hers with her friends, all of them having established a set of holiday traditions while they were all at college together. He sends her pictures the whole night and she returns the favor and she spends most of the night staring at a picture of him and Rory in matching ugly Christmas sweaters knitted by Gina’s mother, wearing identical smiles with the same smattering of freckles across both of their noses. They spend New Year’s Eve in a similar fashion and while she admires Bellamy’s commitment to being a father, she cannot help but wish they could be together so they could have kisses when the clock struck midnight. 

The issue of Rory has been nagging at her more often lately. Bellamy and Clarke have not exactly spoken about whether Rory will ever know about what’s happening between them but every week, she finds it harder and harder to treat Rory like the rest of her students, not after learning about what happened to her mother or knowing how goddamn much her father thinks about her, worries about her, centers his whole life around her.

The one time they discussed Rory in terms of their relationship, Bellamy let out a long, belabored sigh. “We’ll cross the bridge when we come to it,” he said and she agreed with him, not wanting to burst the bubble of happiness that had formed around them. However, she knows that if their relationship is to continue, Rory will have to be told eventually. 

“Does his daughter like you?” Raven asks one day as they talk about Clarke’s anxieties over a bottle of wine (Clarke is trying this new thing where she actually talks to her friends about her problems and while it’s scary as hell, she can’t deny the fact that it makes her feel better).

Clarke shrugs, pouring herself another glass. “She does, but mostly as her kindergarten teacher. I don’t know how she’d feel about me dating her father. Especially because she still misses her mom. A lot.”

Raven lets out a long sigh. Clarke had given her the abbreviated version of what had happened to Gina Blake (excluding, of course, the fact that Bellamy blames himself for everything that happened) and Raven was certainly affected by it, saying “poor kid” more times than she or Clarke could count. 

“I remember that whenever my mom would date someone new, it would really bother me. But that’s because she would introduce them to me as soon as she fucked them and didn’t really seem to care if I liked them or not.”

They both fall silent after Raven finishes talking. Though they’re best friends, they very rarely discuss Raven’s childhood, mostly because whenever they do, it breaks Clarke’s heart and makes her wish she and Raven had met earlier, so she could have saved her best friend from her unhappiness. Clarke places her hand on Raven’s shoulder instead of speaking and the gesture makes her good friend smile. 

“Bellamy’s a good dad. He always does what’s right for Rory. I’m sure when he tells Rory about you, he’ll be good about it. He’ll find a way to make it okay.”

Raven’s words comfort Clarke in a way she wasn’t fully prepared for and she cannot help but feel eternally grateful toward her good friend. 

“I hope you’re right,” is all Clarke can say as a reply and then she pours herself another glass of wine.

*

When Bellamy asks her to visit him at work, she has a hard time hiding her surprise. For the most part, their relationship has been confined to his apartment and the occasional bar meet up with their friends and the prospect of seeing more of his life is too good to pass up.

She walks into the shop (entitled “Trikru” after the small town that Lincoln, along with most of the tattoo artists who work with Bellamy, are from) at around 8pm on a Thursday. Octavia’s babysitting Rory (like she always does whenever Bellamy has to work late) and they’re closing up for the night. Lincoln smiles widely when he sees Clarke walking in and immediately greets her. “I’m glad you finally came by. I’ve been wanting to show some of my artists your tattoos,” he says, warmly, and Clarke smiles in response. Lincoln has become a treasured presence to her, someone who radiates calm and self-assurance, and she cannot deny that that’s something she needs right now. 

Lincoln quickly introduces her to the other tattoo artists who are at the shop today. There’s Nyko, an intimidating figure with kind eyes, Anya, a similarly intimidating figure despite her short stature who gives Clarke the most intense once over, Emori, a beautiful woman who has mischief in her eyes, Murphy, a pale, skittish looking young man who barely gives Clarke a second glance, and, of course, Bellamy. He’s cleaning up his station and looks so fucking good while he’s doing it that Clarke has to remind herself that they’re in public and she can’t fuck him right then and there.

“You don’t have to show anyone your tattoos if you don’t want to. It’s all part of Lincoln’s plan to hire you,” Bellamy says, with a soft smile. He’s just finishing up disinfecting all of his tools and she cannot help but be transfixed by the way his hands move with such skill.

“Tattoo artist. I think that’s a career path my mother would hate even more than kindergarten teacher,” Clarke replies but there is a bit of longing in her voice. Being an tattoo artist would give her the opportunity to express herself through art, something she’s been lusting after her whole life. 

Bellamy laughs quietly and starts putting various items into the cabinets behind his station. “I take it your mother was pretty disappointed when you dropped out of medical school?”

Clarke sighs, leaning against the counter. “Well, at first she tried to be understanding, since I had just lost my girlfriend to cancer. Not that she had ever liked the fact that I was bisexual either. Thought it was just a phase. She understood that I would want to take time off after something like that. But, when that time off turned into me dropping out and enrolling in a teacher accreditation program, she lost her shit,” she explains, the words coming easily to her now that they’ve opened up to each other. He nods, finishes up cleaning his station and picks up his black backpack that was sitting on the floor.

“Do you like being a kindergarten teacher?” 

He’s slipping his backpack over his shoulders as he says it. Her heart stutters in her chest because she cannot help but be caught off guard by him asking. “Why are you asking me that? Do you think I’m a bad teacher?”

He shakes his head immediately and reaches out to brush his fingers over the small bones in her wrist in a comforting way, like he always does whenever she seems to lose her grasp on her carefully crafted mask of happiness and contentment. “No, Clarke, that’s not what I mean at all. I think you’re a great kindergarten teacher. It’s just…whenever I hear you talk about your art…..” he trails off but she knows what he means. While she doesn’t hate being a kindergarten teacher, it’s not exactly what she wants to do for the rest of her life. 

He grasps her hand and they walk out of Trikru together. He mentions something about getting a beer someplace close and she hums in agreement, her mind caught up in thoughts of the future and what form she wants it to take. 

They walk silently to the bar, holding hands all the while. There’s a quiet comfort that’s grown between them, one that does not require words, and she’s thankful for it. When they get to the bar, Bellamy orders each of them a beer, paying for them before she can say anything, and they pick out a booth in the corner.

“What would you do if you could do anything in the whole world?” she asks, finally, and he lets out a long sigh. It’s a silly question, one that is most often asked when you’re in high school, but she knows neither she or Bellamy had the typical high school experience. She was grieving for her father and he was raising his sister. They both had to grow up so fast.

He takes a sip of his beer before speaking and she wonders if it’s because he’s nervous. “I honestly don’t know. My life…it’s never really felt like my own, you know? Ever since Octavia was born, she’s been my responsibility because my mom was always fucked up on heroin or alcohol or whatever she could get her hands on. And then…when Octavia turned sixteen, Gina got pregnant with Rory. In between all that, I never really got to figure out what I really wanted, you know?”

Clarke nods, takes a sip of her beer, and scoots closer to Bellamy. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts absentmindedly playing with her hair, a gesture that always makes her smile. 

“How about you?”

She shrugs, not quite knowing what to say. Her upbringing wasn’t as difficult as Bellamy’s but she understands where he’s coming from, in her own way. She never felt as though she had that many choices either. In fact, dating Lexa and choosing to become a kindergarten teacher were some of the first decisions she made without the consent of her overbearing mother.

“I don’t know either. I’m 25 but I feel like I had a better lock on who I was when I was 18. I liked thinking I wanted to be a doctor. It gave me a purpose. But now…I know I want to do something with art. I know I want to help people. I just don’t know how to go about that.”

“Hey, don’t feel too bad. I’m 28 and still have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

His comment makes her laugh in a way she wasn’t expecting and she’s so thankful for him in that moment, the man who accepts her for who he is. Though she loved Lexa dearly, she was a very goal-oriented person, especially before she got sick. With Lexa, Clarke always felt as though she had to be aspiring to something amazing. She could never just be.

“Hey…there’s something I want to tell you,” Bellamy says after a long pause and there’s something about his tone that unsettles her. He senses her anxiety like he always does and reaches out for her hand, which takes some of the edge of. 

“Yeah?”

“When the year’s over and you aren’t Rory’s kindergarten teacher anymore…I think that’d be a good time. To tell her. About us.” There’s the same finality to his tone that there is whenever he says anything that he’s absolutely serious about and she’s thankful for it. She cannot hide the way a smile spreads across her face and she wonders if he’s been worrying about this as much as she has. The way he returns her grin makes her think he has.

“That sounds great.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Suddenly, her dreams of perfect futures with her, Rory, and Bellamy all together don’t seem so far off after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, so much happened!!! this is the chapter i've been waiting 2 write bc i love writing angsty/emotional bellarke way too much. also, these kids have been needing some happiness/resolution. the next chapter will hopefully be up in the next week. thank u so much 2 everyone for reading and commenting! y'all have been amazing.


	6. blessed be the lost at sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of Bellamy’s life, the burdens he carries, always shocks Clarke. She knows it shouldn’t, knows that she should accept the fact that bad things happen to good people, but the injustice of his life always throws her for a loop because it just isn’t fair. She never tells him, knows that if she did, he’d just scoff at her, say that the world’s an unfair place and she needs to fucking get used to it, but she wants a different world for him, one that treats him well and rewards him for all the good he’s done. 
> 
> She wants a world that makes him happy. 
> 
> She knows what she’s feeling is beyond the bounds of like or lust. She knows that the warmth she feels whenever she looks at him, how it fills her whole chest until she forgets what it was like to hurt, is more than just fondness.
> 
> Clarke knows she’s falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...okay, so i know this chapter is like five months late. and i'm so sorry for making y'all wait that long!!! but, it's finally here and it's long and full of a lot of angst and fluff and is probably the sappiest thing i've ever written so hopefully that makes up for it!!! thank you all for the comments you wrote over the past five months, i've really appreciated them and they were definitely part of what encouraged me to finally finish this chapter while my grad school applications were kicking me in the ass. there are probably gonna be two - three more chapters of this fic and they will definitely be coming out faster than every five months (again, so sorry!!!!).

Now that everything is out in the open, being with Bellamy becomes easy in a way that Clarke isn’t fully prepared for. 

They still don’t see each other particularly often (typically once a week, twice if they’re lucky and Clarke has time to stop by Trikru on her way home from work) but, when they do make time for each other, the ease with which she spends time with Bellamy surprises her. 

She can tell he’s surprised too. They’re both people used to being on guard, used to being uncomfortable, but around each other, they’re able to relax and she can tell the feeling is foreign to both of them. Sometimes when she looks over at Bellamy, she sees a soft smile playing across his lips, one whose origin she can’t quite place, and the second he catches her looking at him, the smile grows even bigger and he reaches out and pulls her close to his chest, until she can feel his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage and she’s sure that he can feel hers doing the same.

“Have I ever told you I used to want to be a professor?”

They’re sitting together on his couch, drinking beer after having just made dinner together, and it’s in moments such as these, when they’re both sated and sleepy, that Bellamy is often his most vulnerable. She raises an eyebrow, takes another sip, and snuggles into his side because, fuck, the very idea of Bellamy Blake as a professor is extremely sexy to her. 

“Really? I thought I was the only one with former doctoral ambitions.”

He smiles, shakes his head with a soft chuckle on his lips. “You’re not the only overachiever in this relationship, Griffin,” he says, his tone easy and unguarded. She moves to trace the tattoos that span his forearm with the tip of her finger, pausing on an especially intricate drawing of the Roman god of war, Mars, and she lets out a soft hum of approval. Now that things have become easy between them, she finds herself admiring his work so much more, the design he had poured his whole heart into when he was in Afghanistan. 

“What did you want to study?” she asks, an innocent tilt in her voice. Bellamy flushes, clearly feeling sheepish, and looks away from her. It’s a cute look on him and she grins, pressing a comforting kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re probably going to think I’m such a fucking nerd when I tell you…”

“I like nerds. Tell me.”

“Ancient Roman history, specifically focusing on mythology.”

It isn’t what Clarke was expecting when they first began this conversation but suddenly so many things about Bellamy make sense: his tattoos, the large and intimidating bookcase in his room filled with volumes upon volumes of ancient history, the way his eyes light up when she asks him casual questions about mythology when there’s a clue related to the subject on the crossword she does everyday. “Why?” she asks, trying to not seem so eager to find out more about him. Every new thing she learns about Bellamy makes her heart race and her cheeks flush with the knowledge that it’s making her care for him even more.

He’s absent-mindedly playing with her hair as he thinks, a new habit he’s picked up that she can’t get enough of. He twists a golden curl around his finger and then lets it go over again before answering her. “My mom. We didn’t have enough money for normal kid’s books but she was able to find a volume of Greco-Roman mythology at a garage sale by our apartment when I was three. She read them to me every night when I couldn’t sleep. Then I read them to Octavia when my mom was too high to do it herself,” he explains. Clarke makes a soft sound in her throat and soothes her fingers over his forearm. Whenever Bellamy mentions anything about his mother, it breaks her fucking heart. 

“I actually got into college. Five of them, actually, and one of them, University of Maryland, was gonna give me a full ride. But, right when I was about to send in my deposit, my mom relapsed after being sober for a whole year. I knew I couldn’t leave Octavia with her, when she was like that. So I turned down the offer, stayed behind, and worked so Octavia didn’t starve.”

Clarke sighs, amazed at what Bellamy has been through in his short 28 years. She doesn’t know how to express the admiration she feels for him, the way he impresses her more and more everyday, so she settles for squeezing his arm and pulling him closer. Thankfully, he understands, like he always does. 

“Have you ever thought about going back to school?” she offers, softly, and he shakes his head, shrugging, almost as though the very thought is laughable to him.

“I was thinking about doing it once Octavia graduated high school, but then Rory happened and I….She has to be my number one priority. Maybe when she turns 18….” he trails off in a way that suggests that any return to education is a far off dream.

The reality of Bellamy’s life, the burdens he carries, always shocks Clarke. She knows it shouldn’t, knows that she should accept the fact that bad things happen to good people, but the injustice of his life always throws her for a loop because it just isn’t fair. She never tells him, knows that if she did, he’d just scoff at her, say that the world’s an unfair place and she needs to fucking get used to it, but she wants a different world for him, one that treats him well and rewards him for all the good he’s done. 

She wants a world that makes him happy. 

She knows what she’s feeling is beyond the bounds of like or lust. She knows that the warmth she feels whenever she looks at him, how it fills her whole chest until she forgets what it was like to hurt, is more than just fondness.

Clarke knows she’s falling in love.

She keeps it a secret, holds close to her chest, pretends that it isn’t really happening, that it’s just her and Bellamy figuring things out together and there’s no definite end or beginning to what they’re doing, but deep down, she knows the truth.

Sometimes, when Bellamy looks at her with soft, open eyes and brushes her hair behind the shell of her ear, she thinks that he’s falling in love too.

*

Not everything’s easy, though. There’s still Rory and the fact that what Bellamy and Clarke has threatens Rory’s loose grasp on happiness. Clarke likes to believe that Rory’s getting better, that therapy’s helping, that one day she’ll be able to accept another woman in her father’s life, but one day in March, everything goes to shit.

It begins like a normal day in Clarke’s classroom. Bellamy drops Rory off early like usual and they find a quick moment, when Rory’s completely absorbed in finger painting, to exchange a quick kiss and he gives her a look that always sends shivers down her spine. The rest of the students arrive on time and settle into the daily routine (attendance, a quick review of the alphabet and counting, and a rundown of what the kids are going to be doing today, and then a quick segue into playtime before lunch). Clarke moves around the room with more confidence she did during first semester, having settled into the rhythm of being a kindergarten teacher. It’s not exactly what she wants to do for her life but she likes it fine.

Right before she’s about to give the kids the five minute warning before lunch time, she notices that Rory’s off in a corner, sniffling by herself. Immediately, Clarke goes into damage control mode and rushes over to her. “Rory, honey, is everything okay?” she asks, reaching for the small girl’s hands, but Rory shifts away from her, tears running down her face. She’s nonverbal, shaking her head and sobbing and Clarke’s panicking. Bellamy’s told her that Rory gets like this sometimes, when something reminds her of her mom, and that it’s almost impossible to calm her down. 

“Do you want me to call your daddy and have him come here?” Clarke asks and Rory’s manages a small nod. It’s a decision that Clarke knows she probably wouldn’t have made if she didn’t know what Rory’s been through and Rory’s father but, deep down, she knows it’s the right one. 

She moves quickly, sending Maya an SOS text, begging for her to let Clarke’s class eat lunch in her classroom, and Maya agrees immediately and herds all of Clarke’s students, sans Rory, across the hall. Once everyone’s gone, and it’s just Clarke and hyperventilating, inconsolable Rory, Clarke calls Bellamy.

It takes him five rings to pick up the phone and when he answers, she immediately senses his anxiety. “What’s wrong?” he asks before she can even get the words out because he knows that if Clarke’s calling him in the middle of the day, when Rory’s in her care, there’s definitely something amiss. 

“Rory can’t stop crying. I think it’s one of those panic attacks you’ve told me about….I don’t think I can calm her down. Do you think you come?” 

She hears Bellamy opening and closing the door to Trikru and pulling his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Will she let you touch her? Is she able to talk?”

Clarke glances over to where Rory’s sitting, her arms hugging their way around her body and her eyes staring blankly at the floor. She’s rocking herself back and forth and it’s clear that she’s in her own world, unreachable. 

“She pulled away from me when I tried to the first time and she isn’t talking. What should I do until you get here?”

“Just sit next to her and talk to her. Tell her a story. Try to distract her. I’ll be there as fast as I can. And, Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling me. I know you don’t do shit like this for all of your students.”

“It’s no problem, Bell. Just get here soon.”

*

It only takes twelve minutes for Bellamy to get to Mount Weather Elementary but Clarke feels every second tick by painfully slow. She knows that she shouldn’t be doing this, that this is something the school nurse should deal with, but she also knows that she’s the only person at school that Rory’s comfortable around and she doesn’t want to risk upsetting the poor girl even more. Bellamy bursts through the door just when Clarke’s finally convinced Rory to take her hand.

The minute Rory sees him, she tears her hand away from Clarke and runs into her father’s open arms, sobbing. Bellamy wraps his arms tightly around her, soothing a hand up and down her back. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” he repeats over and over again and she hears Rory muttering something that makes a pained expression appear on Bellamy’s features and he just grasps her even tighter.

Clarke pales and stands up. She feels as though this is something she shouldn’t be seeing, that it’s an intimate moment not for her eyes, but when she moves to leave, she sees Bellamy shake his head and motion for her to stay. She raises an eyebrow but stays glued to her spot, not knowing why Bellamy wants her here.

It doesn’t take long for Bellamy to calm Rory down. He whispers soft comforting words into his daughter’s ear and bounces her up and down. After a few moments, she’s just sniffling instead of full on sobbing and he carries her over to where Clarke’s sitting. 

“Today’s her mom’s birthday. She’s crying because she feels bad that she forgot until you had her change the day on the calendar,” Bellamy offers as an explanation and Clarke feels her heart plummet, remembering the first time she forgot her father’s birthday, after grieving his loss for what felt like forever. She crouches down beside Bellamy and Rory, not knowing what exactly her place is with the two of them but comforting herself with the knowledge that, for some reason, Bellamy wants her here.

“Rory, have I ever told you that my dad died?”

The words leave her mouth before she can think properly. It’s not something she would say to any of her other students and she knows she’s crossing a line but there’s just something about Rory’s pain that so closely resembles Clarke’s own. She recognized it in the small girl the first time they met, the sad and empty way Rory’s eyes would roam the room, the same way Raven had told Clarke that her eyes did before she met Bellamy. 

Rory stops sniffling for a moment and stares at Clarke with something like wonder in her eyes. Clarke glances over at Bellamy, checking to see if he’s okay with her talking to Rory like this and he gives her an encouraging nod.

“What happened to him?” Rory asks, her voice small and timid. Clarke sits down on the floor, trying to make herself seem as non-threatening and non-big scary adult as possible.

“Someone thought he was a bad person and hurt him. It happened when I was 17. It was really hard. I cried all the time. And, after a while, I forgot when his birthday was. And it made me really sad. But, someone once told me something that made me feel better about all of that. They told me that my dad would want me to forget some things because that would mean that I was getting better, that I wasn’t crying all the time. He would want me to be happy. And I’m sure that your mom would want you to be happy too.”

Clarke doesn’t know where the words come from but once she starts talking, she doesn’t stop until she’s finished. Rory’s staring at her in rapt attention and Clarke cannot help but notice that Bellamy is too. When she finishes speaking, the small girl reaches out for Clarke’s hand and the gesture makes Clarke’s heart soar in a way she wasn’t expecting. She grasps Rory’s hand tightly and it’s only then that she glances up at Bellamy and sees the way he’s looking at her, really looking at her, like he’s seeing her for the first time. 

“Your daddy wasn’t mad at you for forgetting?” Rory says, finally, after a long pause. Clarke smiles softly at the small girl and shakes her head. 

“No, I think he was happy that I was able to move on.”

Something clicks into place for Rory and while she doesn’t exactly look happy, she doesn’t look distressed either. Bellamy’s rubbing soothing circles against her back and she’s still holding Clarke’s hand.

A feeling, one more powerful than anything Clarke has felt since Lexa died, swells up in her and bowls her over. She knows this feeling, knows it has something to do with Rory and Bellamy and the promise of the future that they could have together, but she doesn’t dare name it, for fear that naming it would ruin everything. She glances up and makes eye contact with him and there’s something too bright about his eyes that completely wrecks her, making her heart pound in her eyes and a strange fluttering sensation come over her whole body. 

He opens his mouth to say something but never actually does, the promise of his words hanging on the air. She raises an eyebrow, as if to ask him if everything’s okay, but he merely smiles in response before returning his attention to Rory, who, though recovered, does not really look like she could survive a whole day at school. 

“Take her home,” Clarke tells him, finally breaking the silence that’s fallen over the three of them. 

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“We’re not doing much with the rest of the day. Really, it’s fine. Take her home.” 

Bellamy gives her a look of infinite gratitude before picking up Rory properly and standing up. Clarke walks over to Rory’s cubby and produces the little girl’s belongings. “Here, I’ll carry these to the car,” she offers and he mutters a quick thank you. Their walk to his car is silent and Clarke prays that none of the administrators or her co-workers see what she’s doing. Nothing she’s done explicitly breaks any of the rules but, it does make it clear that there’s definitely something going on between her and Rory’s father. 

She opens the car door for him and tosses Rory’s lunch box and backpack onto the front seat while Bellamy straps Rory into her booster seat. She moves to walk away, because she knows if she lingers, she’ll be tempted to do something she regrets. However, before she walks away, Bellamy grasps her wrist. 

“Clarke…” 

“Bellamy, you should get going. I sent the rest of the class to eat lunch in Maya’s classroom and-“

Before she can finish talking, he presses his lips to hers, with such force and passion that it almost knocks the breath out of her. Before she can really process what’s happening, she’s returning his kiss, pressing herself eagerly against his body. It’s only after a few seconds of bliss that she realizes what’s happening and pulls away from him jerkily. 

“Bellamy! Rory could see!”

His pupils are blown wide and his gaze is fixed on her in a way that makes her feel as though her body is on fire in the best way possible. “She fell asleep as soon as I buckled her into her seat. She didn’t see anything,” he says and he smiles cheekily at her before letting her hand drop from his grasp. They stand there for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, and Clarke becomes acutely aware of the fact that something has changed between her and Bellamy. She doesn’t know quite what it is but it makes her feel alive.

“Thank you. For everything. I…You’re a good teacher. And good with Rory.”

She can tell his last sentence is heavy with meaning and significance but she does not process it fully, knowing that if she does, everything that’s going on between them will seem so much more real. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Bellamy. It’s my job.”

“It’s your job but I know that Rory’s difficult. A lot of her teachers and a lot of people have given up on her, especially when she gets like that. But, you didn’t. You’re a good person, Clarke.”

His words warm her insides in a way she wasn’t expecting. A grin stretches across her face and she knows that she’s blushing but she doesn’t care. “So are you, Bellamy.”

He grins too and opens the door of his car. “I’ll see you at Octavia’s birthday party.” 

Clarke nods and waves Bellamy off as he drives away from the parking lot, her heart thudding in her ears all the while. He’s doing something to her. She doesn’t know quite what it is but she feels different. She spends the rest of the day on autopilot, directing her students sans Rory through different activities, her mind completely absorbed with the way he looked at her as she was comforting Rory. 

*

For a father, Bellamy’s fucking amazing a beer pong.

Clarke doesn’t know why she doubted his skill nor does she know how this game started but she has a feeling it has something to do with the fact it’s Octavia’s birthday and she made everyone start drinking at 3pm. Both Clarke’s friends and the staff of Trikru are here, at Lincoln and Octavia’s apartment, and it’s certainly a rambunctious crowd. 

Jasper’s brought Maya and while the initial awkwardness of work life meeting personal life was uncomfortable, Clarke’s happy that Jasper has someone, after being the perpetually single friend for so long. “Now, if only Monty and Miller could get their shit together,” Raven says as she and Clarke make themselves drinks in Lincoln’s kitchen while everyone else is in the living room, either playing beer pong or cheering the players on. 

It’s a well-thought out and elegant apartment in all the ways that everything Lincoln does is elegant. He has a talent for combining rustic details with modern architecture and Clarke cannot help but the admire the ways in which he’s integrated art into his everyday life. It’s more than she’s done for herself and she cannot help but feel a pang of envy and longing. Lincoln has his shit figured out in a way that she could only dream of.

“Hey, they’re just drunk enough that tonight might be the night it happens,” Clarke offers as she adds more vodka to her lemonade. She knows it’s a bitch drink but she hasn’t had the opportunity to get properly wasted in a while and tonight, she really has a reason to and it very obviously has something to do with the single father whose currently destroying Jasper and Monty at beer pong, despite the fact he claims he hasn’t played since before Rory was born.

She and Bellamy came to the party together. They both tried to not make a big deal out of it, trying to make it seem more casual than it was, but there’s no denying the fact that this means something and their collective friend group has definitely taken notice.

It’s not that Clarke was under the illusion that everything between her and Bellamy was completely casual before. It was never casual. There was always something deeper drawing them together, a force that neither of them quite understood. However, before now, their relationship was mostly private, consisting solely of the two of them and his little apartment. To come out together was to make a statement, that they weren’t just fucking, that this was something that should be taken seriously.

And it is. It becomes more and more serious with every passing day. Clarke cannot go more than five minutes without her eyes resting upon him whenever they’re together and Raven’s definitely noticed, mocks her incessantly about it, and Octavia has started to too.

He’s giving her that look, the one that makes her mouth dry and warmth fill the deepest, most secret parts of her. He’s just won the match, he and Murphy trouncing Jasper and Monty, and after high-fiving Murphy and participating in other stereotypically boyish behaviors, he’s definitely noticed the way she’s looking at him. Raven’s noticed too and she nudges Clarke with her plastic cup of vodka and tonic. “Fuck, Clarke, stop looking at him like that, it’s grossing me out,” she teases, a smirk on her lips. 

“Shut up, Raven,” Clarke mutters but she still smiles as her face turns even redder. She knows that Raven’s teasing comes from a kind place, one that’s happy that Clarke is actually living her life again. 

“He’s coming this way. I’m gonna leave so I don’t have to watch the two of you eye fuck anymore,” Raven says and she intentionally bumps into Bellamy on her way back to the rest of the party and while he’s confused by the gesture, he seems to have gotten to know Raven well enough at this point to not be offended. Once he’s by her side, he immediately wraps an arm around her waist and she relaxes into his arms.

It’s nice to do things like this, to be normal for once. So much of their relationship has been colored by their grieving, their healing, their self-hatred. Sometimes she looks at other couples, like Octavia and Lincoln, and the way they can smile at each other without being reminded of the ghosts of the people they loved who can no longer smile with them, and it makes her ache in a way she isn’t expecting, not because she wants to be with someone other than Bellamy but because she wishes that their love wasn’t so heavy with those they had lost.

“Did you see me destroy your friends?” he asks, his tone easy and light. She pulls herself out of her depressing reverie and laughs. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Bellamy act like a normal person in their twenties and she thinks it’s adorable. 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna let them live it down. I think they thought you would be an easy target since you’re a dad.”

“Murphy and I have perfected our beer pong game over the past five years. They never stood a chance.”

Murphy’s a new character in Bellamy’s life who Clarke’s becoming more acquainted with. Everyone who works at Trikru is, actually. They’re all good people, even if they’re a little intimidating. Murphy took the longest for Clarke to warm up to but the weird friendship he has with Bellamy is endearing in its own way. For some reason, Rory adores Murphy, calls him “Uncle Murph” and Bellamy’s told Clarke that whenever Murphy’s around, Rory won’t let him leave her sight, gluing herself to his side.

Suddenly, music’s blaring from Lincoln’s sound system and it’s clear that Octavia, who has now proven herself to be the drunkest of the lot of them, has decided that it’s time for dancing. She pulls Lincoln toward her immediately and he’s wearing the biggest, goofiest grin on his face as they start to dance together. She wonders if Bellamy can smile like that. She wonders if they will ever be that happy.

“Do you ever wish we were like them?”

The question leaves her mouth before she processes it completely. Bellamy looks confused for a second and then follows her gaze to where Octavia and Lincoln are goofily dancing. 

“What do you mean exactly?”

“…I don’t know. Do you ever wish that we didn’t have to constantly wade through an endless stream of depressing bullshit at least once a week?”

Bellamy gives her a stern look, one’s who meaning she doesn’t quite understand. “You’re asking me if I wish we were normal.”

She nods and he shakes his head in such a confident, defiant way that it surprises her. “Not even for a second.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Clarke, what we have is real. Not to say that Lincoln and Octavia’s relationship is built on bullshit; it isn’t. It’s just…you know when I realized that I liked you?”

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. Bellamy isn’t usually this candid about their relationship and she thinks that all the alcohol he’s drank tonight is definitely fueling this confession but that doesn’t make her doubt its validity. If there’s anything she’s learned about Bellamy Blake during the past six months of knowing him and four months of dating him, it’s that he never says things that he doesn’t mean. 

“It was when I was walking you home from the bar, after we talked for the first time. You stopped walking and I noticed you had started crying. You didn’t hide it or anything. You weren’t ashamed of how you felt. And then you said that it was because it was the first time you had felt happy in a really long time and that was the most genuine thing I’d heard anyone say in what felt like years. I don’t care that we have to talk about hard shit a lot. I don’t care that you have baggage, I obviously have it too. What we have is hard but it’s also genuine. What we have is the type of thing that lasts.”

His words hit her hard, knocking the breath out of her and leaving her gasping for air because it’s everything she’s wanted him to say to her since that night they walked home together. Her heart’s beating in her ears and the only thought on her mind is Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy, and how strong and lovely and perfect he is and it takes everything in her to keep herself from fucking him in Lincoln’s kitchen. 

From the look on his face, she can tell he feels the same way. 

“Let’s go.”

His tone is final, strong, and the sexiest thing she’s ever heard. His hands drop from her waist and he moves to grab her hand. The party’s going on without them, everyone caught up in their own shit, and she knows they can sneak away without it being a big deal. “What about Octavia?” she asks, but the second the question leaves her lips, she hears Octavia shrieking in laughter as Lincoln throws her over his shoulder and starts to carry her around the apartment, much to the chagrin of everyone else who’s just trying to have a good time and ignore the fact that Octavia and Lincoln are really, really into each other and have a penchant for fucking in bathrooms while their friends are partying. 

Bellamy just smirks in response and starts to lead Clarke to the door of the apartment. “I really don’t think she’s going to notice,” he replies and Clarke laughs, knowing he’s right. Raven sees them sneaking out and gives Clarke a shit-eating grin but doesn’t blow their cover. 

They start making out as soon as they get outside Lincoln’s apartment building. Bellamy presses her up against the wall and frames her body with his own, blocking out the outside world. He kisses her like he has something to prove, hard, fast, and demanding, and she hears a wolf whistle from a passerby but neither of them really gives a fuck, too caught up in each other. 

“God, I’ve wanted to fuck you since we got to the party,” he growls into the soft skin of her neck before sucking lightly there. Clarke moans in response and presses herself more eagerly against his body. 

“You always want to fuck me,” she retorts and he laughs, low and gravelly, because she’s right. They stand there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes for what feels like forever, and Clarke feels like she did that first night, when he walked her to her house and saw her cry and didn’t run away. Her chest is filled with the promise of what they have and she beams at him, radiant and easy, before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“We should probably catch an Uber or something so we don’t end up having sex right outside your little sister’s apartment,” she offers and Bellamy nods but she can tell that part of him, specifically the part of him that thinks with his dick, is kind of into the idea of fucking her right here, right now, filthy and fast.

She summons the Uber and since Octavia and Lincoln live in a part of town that’s surrounded by bars, it comes quickly. It takes all the self control that both of them have to not make out in the back of the car but they manage it anyway. 

The second they get into his apartment, all bets are off. The door slams closed behind them and the look in Bellamy’s eyes is positively devilish as he drinks her in. This look is new, more open, more vulnerable the way he looked at her when they first started sleeping together and it sends shivers down her spine. Her mouth is on his before either of them can say anything, make some sort of game plan of how the rest of the night is going to proceed, and he moans into her, his grasp on her body becoming almost bruising in its intensity.

“Do you know when I realized I liked you?”

Words are falling out of her mouth without more forethought the second Bellamy breaks their kiss and he raises an eyebrow because he’s usually the one talking, making grand statements, and she’s usually the one listening. 

Her heart’s beating in her eyes because something about this night, about this moment, feels different than other moments she’s shared with him. She feels electric, like she’s really, truly alive, and she can finally tell Bellamy everything she’s always wanted to. “It was that night. When we walked home together. And I started crying and you didn’t run away. You didn’t look at me like there was something wrong with me, like everyone always does. You didn’t treat me like I was broken. You treated me like a person,” she confesses and the words leave her mouth rapid-fire. It’s stuff both of them already knew about each other but they’ve never said it, never admitted it properly.

“My whole life, everyone’s treated me like some type of walking tragedy. You didn’t. I’m so thankful for that, Bellamy. I’m so thankful for you.”

The biggest grin she’s ever seen appears on his face and she knows her expression’s mirroring his own. He reaches out, pulls her close to him, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m so thankful for you too,” he replies and there’s such softness, such wonder in his words that they take her breath away.

They stand there for a moment, absorbing what’s happening between them. Bellamy cups Clarke’s face in his hand before leaning in to kiss her and there’s something about this kiss, this moment, that completely overwhelms her. She’s clinging to his body as tight as she possibly can, almost as though he’s her anchor in a turbulent storm. Electricity courses through her veins when their tongues meet and she finds her herself slipping her hand up the button down shirt he’s wearing, placing her hand on the muscled, warm skin of his chest.

Their kissing becomes more urgent and he presses her back against his kitchen counter, wedging one of his legs between her thighs. She moans softly at the unexpected pressure, her body pressing against him eagerly. 

Suddenly, Bellamy breaks their kiss and lifts her up and places her on the counter. “Shouldn’t we go back to your bedroom?” she asks and he smirks, shaking his head. 

“No, too impatient. I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

Bellamy’s voice always turns her on but, when he says shit like that, it’s almost too much to bear. She’s getting wet already and she wraps her legs around his waist bringing him closer. She can feel his hard cock through his jeans, see the arousal in his eyes, and he lets out a soft growl at the sensation of their bodies meeting more directly now.

They start kissing once more and his mouth is ravenous against hers, rough in all the right ways. There’s something about the way Bellamy kisses her that has always caught Clarke off guard in the best way, how he puts his everything into it, never holding back, not even the first time. He steadies her on the counter top by placing his hands on her hips and his touch sends warmth throughout her body.

“Bellamy,” she whispers and it’s a soft plea whose purpose she doesn’t quite know yet, she just knows she needs more. He understands immediately, pressing more eagerly against her core and they grind against each other urgently, the pressure only a slight relief from the warm thrumming that’s building inside of her. 

There’s a gentleness to his movements, a soft affection to them, and when he sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, he immediately soothes away the ache with a flick of his tongue. 

Both their shirts and Clarke’s bra are off before either of them has realized what’s happened and Clarke takes a moment to admire Bellamy and the lean muscles that make up his chest. Lately, she can’t get enough of looking at him, amazed that someone so beautiful, so strong, so picturesque wants anything to do with her but he chases away those thoughts by pressing eager kisses to her neck, her shoulders, her clavicles, and she throws her head back, soaking the feeling up. 

“Have I told you lately that your tits are fucking perfect?” he mutters gruffly and Clarke starts laughing in response but that laugh quickly turns into moan when he sucks one of her nipples into his mouth and rubs eagerly against the other one with the calloused pad of his thumb. Just when she gets used to this pleasurable sensation on his mouth on her, he bites one of her nipples lightly before letting it go and she keens, her broken voice echoing throughout his kitchen.

He doesn’t stop there, though. He drops his head, trailing kisses down her stomach, smirking against her skin when she giggles as the scruff of his face brushes against an especially ticklish part of her body. These soft moments, the ones that are explicitly sexual but still affectionate, mean so much to her and she tries to memorize all of them so she can conjure up the memory when she feels lost and hopeless. 

He unbuttons her jeans and she lifts her hips off the cold tile counter so he can get them off. He has a mischievous look in his eyes and she’s learned that look almost always means trouble. He grins at her, cheekily, before getting on his knees so his face is perfectly level with her cunt. Before Clarke can ask him what he’s doing, he licks a stripe up the sheer fabric of her underwear and it’s simultaneously too much and too little and she whines his name desperately. 

“A little impatient, are we?” he teases and she narrows her eyes at him as he pulls her legs over his shoulders. She rolls her eyes and gently knocks her knee into the side of his head in retaliation.

He, thankfully, doesn’t torture her for too much longer. Her panties are gone in seconds and Clarke sucks in a quick intake of breath, suddenly nervous, but Bellamy quickly chases away any insecurity she may have felt by gazing up at her adoringly.

“You okay?” he asks, and he presses a kisses to the inside of her knee. 

“Yeah, I’m good…I just…I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“That I’m about to rock your world?”

He’s clearly fucking with her and she cannot help but laugh in response. She loves how goofy Bellamy can be. It was unexpected, after how serious he was the first few times they spent time together, but he has a special talent for making her laugh when she least expects it. 

“No, just that…I’m here. With you. And you make me laugh and you make me smile and that I didn’t ruin everything.”

He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat at the last part of her sentence and rubs his thumb soothingly against her thigh. He knows the nature of this burden that she bears, the fixation she has on being a failure. “You don’t ruin everything, Clarke,” he mutters and before she can argue with him, he silences her by licking a line up her wet folds, catching her completely off guard and killing any protests and arguments that may have been sitting on her tongue.

Bellamy’s tongue always feels so sweet against her but there’s something different about tonight. While he’s usually rough and dominant, his fingers bruising upon her hips as he holds her in place, tonight he’s softer, more deliberate, gently flicking her clit at a steady rhythm. He moans at the taste of her, sending vibrations throughout her body and she whines at the sensation, desperate for more. 

He keeps her right at the edge of orgasm for what feels like forever, teasing her with his tongue and teeth. She bucks her hips up toward him, a silent plea for more pressure, more friction but she just feels him smirk against her in response. No, he’s taking his sweet fucking time with her and she would hate him for it if it didn’t feel so fucking good. 

Just when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, her thighs trembling on either side of his head and her breath coming out in whiny pants, Bellamy slips a finger inside her, drawing a moan that almost sounds like a scream from deep within her. He finds her g-spot almost instantly and begins to rub gently circles against it, in time with the circles he’s drawing on her clit with his tongue and within in seconds, she’s coming, her sounds of pleasure radiating throughout the kitchen. He finger fucks her through her orgasm, nice and slow, and only pulls his mouth away from her when she collapses against the counter, her chest rising and falling rapidly and her eyes glassy. 

“Holy shit, Bellamy,” is all she can manage and she knows without even looking at him that a cheeky grin has spread across his lips. He drapes his body over hers and kisses her deeply, allowing her to taste herself on his lips. After a few breathless moments, he pulls away and the look in his eyes is unlike anything she’s ever seen, raw, desperate, and completely focused on her. 

“Do you still think the counter is a good idea,” she asks him, smirking, and he chuckles darkly before pressing her back down and standing up. He undoes the fly of his jeans and pulls his cock through the hole of his boxers. After slipping on a condom that he had in the pocket of his jeans, he lines himself up with where she’s wet and wanting, teasing her for a few moments by sliding his length along her folds.

“Yeah, I do. And I think in about three seconds, you’re going to agree with me.”

Clarke wraps her legs around his waist, in the effort to draw him in closer, and he finally relents, thrusting his cock deep inside her slowly, inch by inch. He’s always careful, always cautious but this time he almost seems to be fucking with her and it’s definitely having the desired effect. She tries to writhe up toward him put he places a hand on her chest, keeping her still. “Be patient,” he murmurs huskily but she can tell from the wild look in his eyes that it’s taking everything in his power to keep from fucking her senseless. 

When he finally enters her completely, he picks up his pace a little, nowhere near as fast as he usually goes but still an improvement. In this position, he has complete access to her body and he takes advantage of it, moving the hand on her chest to her nipple and thumbing at it lightly. She keens at the sensation, wrapping her legs even tighter around his waist and drawing him in closer. Clarke knows she’s impossibly wet now, can hear the slick sounds of Bellamy fucking her, and it’s driving her wild. 

He’s deliberate in this movements, his face the picture of concentration as he thrusts in and out of her. He’s fucking her like he has something to prove, something deep, heavy, and all encompassing, and the way he’s looking at her, pupils blown wide, makes her feel just as good as his cock does. 

They fall into a slow rhythm, one that doesn’t satisfy either of them completely because they both want more, more, more. He’s still taking his time with her and each of her moans is a plea for him to fuck her harder. After what feels like forever, he finally relents, driving his cock deep inside her over and over again, hitting a spot makes Clarke see stars, and the sound he pulls from her throat is simultaneously vulnerable and desperate.

“Fuck, Bellamy, that feels so good,” she whines and she reaches up for him, wanting to pull him closer. He obliges immediately and leans over so his body covers hers completely, his arms resting on the counter top and framing her face. Her heartbeat quickens at the intimacy of this position, he’s the only thing she can see, hear, or feel. His cock keeps hitting that spot and he doesn’t take his eyes off of her for a second, his focus absolute and totaling. She cannot help but wonder if that’s what she looks like right now, eyes wild, blissed out, and so completely focused on him, and the thought sends a shiver down her spine because she knows what these looks mean, what they’re leading too.

He moans his agreement with her statement, his voice rough and hoarse. She can’t get enough of the way he sounds when he’s fucking her, the way his voice always breaks on the second syllable of her name. “Fuck….Clarke……” he breathes into her neck and the way his voice feels against her skin makes her even wetter, hotter, desperate for more. He’s fucking her even harder now and she can tell that she’s going to have some bruises on her back from the counter when they’re done but she doesn’t care, too absorbed in the way he’s making her feel. 

He slips his hand between them, calloused thumb making contact with her clit, and the sensation is enough to make her whole body clench up in pleasure. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans and she tries to say something in response but the words die on her lips as he begins to rub her clit as he fucks deep and hard, hitting a spot deep inside her that she doesn’t think anyone has ever reached before. 

It isn’t Bellamy’s cock that makes her come and it isn’t his fingers either (though both feel absolutely amazing). It’s the way he’s looking at her. Just when the pleasure becomes too much to take, she opens her eyes and sees him staring back at her with such wonder, such tenderness, that it sends her over the edge, her screams echoing throughout his tiny kitchen. He follows soon after, his hips thrusting erratically against her, and she thinks he’s saying her name but she isn’t quite sure, her brain so overloaded with bliss and ecstasy. He leans over, resting his chest against hers and for a moment, they just stay in that position, soaking up the moment.

“Holy shit,” Clark mutters and he chuckles gently at her words. He stands up properly and helps her sit up as well before disposing of the condom. They stay in that position, looking into each other’s eyes, and Bellamy moves one of his hands to cup her face, his expression soft and loving in a way that is so uniquely Bellamy Blake that it makes Clarke’s heart sing.

“I love you.”

The words fall from her lips before she can convince herself not to say them because they’re true. She loves Bellamy Blake. She loves everything about him. She loves the way his mouth quirks up whenever he’s telling her a cute story about Rory and she loves how his lips curl their way around her name when he thinks she’s being ridiculous and she loves how big his heart is and how he’s welcomed her into his cramped apartment, his messy life. She loves how he’s strong in the quietest of ways, how he does not need reassurance of her feelings or what they are because he knows her, trusts her, believes in her. After Lexa died, she was so used to walking around like a ghost, ephemeral and temporal, ready to disappear at the first sight of trouble. But with him, with Bellamy, she doesn’t feel that way anymore. He makes her feel real. So, when she thinks of shrinking away from her words, hiding from them, the love she has for him emboldens her to stay the course.

She cannot quite read his expression. There’s something too bright about his eyes and it makes her heart skip a beat. Before she can say anything else, ask him how he’s feeling, he silences her by pressing his lips against her own, hard and fast and confident. When they finally pull away from each other, breathless and grinning, Bellamy presses his forehead to hers, letting his eyes flutter closed in what looks like bliss. 

“I love you too, Clarke. More than you know.”

When Clarke wakes in the morning, she wonders if it was all a dream because it just feels too perfect, to love Bellamy and to be loved by him. But, before she can spend to much time on that train of thought, she’s distracted by the feeling of Bellamy wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, his breath hot on the back of her neck. 

“You know, I wanted to say it first,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep against her skin. Clarke giggles girlishly, a sound she didn’t even know that she was capable of making, before turning around to face him.

“Oh yeah? I think saying ‘I love you’ is a pretty stupid thing to be competitive over.”

“Well, now that you love me, Clarke, you gotta get used to the fact that I’m only competitive about stupid things.”

They spend the rest of the morning laughing and kissing and loving each other and when Clarke finally makes her way back to her apartment, a goofy grin is permanently affixed to her face because for the first time since Lexa got sick, Clarke truly feels happy and it’s a feeling she doesn’t feel scared of anymore.


End file.
